Bloodline of Hope
by KisaraTheDragonCharm
Summary: Luke never felt as though his guardians understood him and after getting into a fight and running away from home, he is forced to adapt to a strange new world full of unimaginable horrors. Now starving, tired and alone Luke beings to regret his decision to runaway; but learns that it is truely too late to change things and worst of all, it's about to get a whole lot worst. Luke&Vad
1. Prologue

This is all new to me, I've never written for Star Wars before but it's one of my favourite franchises of all time. I've always been interested in the relationship between Luke and Vader so I've decided to write a story set in an alternative universe. I hope you'll all be kind and point out any mistakes I may have made.

As always I own nothing.

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**Summary: **Luke has always dreamt of flying, to touch the stars-to be one of them. On his 12th Birthday he gets into an argument with his family and runs away, vowing to never return. His life is turned upside down when he is subjected to a strange new world full of creatures and unimaginable horrors he never thought possible. Thorugh if all, he wonders if he'll ever see his family again-little does he know, it's about to get a lot more complicated.

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Prologue

A Hermits Wish

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"Luke! Stay away from there!"

"No come here!" a voice shouted; a giggle followed shortly afterwards.

"Luke!" The voice shouted once more.

"Look Aunt Bewu, I'm a Banta!" His pale hands formed small horns above his head as he pranced around, giggling and smiling-his small feet kicking sand and small pebbles around as he played.

"Very funny Luke." She chuckled; he was growing up fast. At just 5 years old the young boy was as hyperactive and content as any other boy his age-secluded but happy that's the way she preferred it, that's the only way the boy would remain safe.

She fixed her eyes upon the youngling, although smaller than many his age he was most definitely brighter, his large sky-blue eyes reflected a childhood innocence not yet properly corrupted by the Empire's oppressive regime. But what frightened her was the fierce power behind them, hidden behind a chubby face and blonde hair was an eccentric boy who's thirst for knowledge and adventure made him impulsive and dangerous if not properly minded. His impulsivity had made her question whether or not it was a good idea to take him in-she often found herself wondering whether or not a nanny droid would be of any use. She highly doubted it, plus they didn't have the credits to spare for such endeavors.

His father's son. she thought bitterly, although the man she once called brother in law was but a distant memory to her, she was not naïve enough to forget the monster he'd become-Impulsive, possessive and oh so _very_ dangerous. She'd do everything within her power to make sure that Luke never grew up into that same monster. It was simple nature versus nurture, right? she hoped she'd been an adequate surrogate mother-she couldn't ever replace that natural maternal bond that existed between all mothers and their offspring, but her methods were simplistic and humane atleast.

But Luke was not his Father, although impulsive and far more independent for one so young he was fiercely empathetic, something his father sorely lacked if she recalled- or so she'd read.

She looked over into the distance and rubbed her arms, even with the woolly mantel upon her aged shoulders she could tell it was getting late. The suns were casting their orange red glow upon the endless kilometres of sand dunes and mountains and soon the fire would snuff out into a deathly chill which trembled the bones of even the most experienced travellers. That was the way of life here, there was never much to see on Tatooine and for the most part it was a dry dust ball of golden sand and molten sun rays which cooked and aged the skin in such a way that left an endless feeling of fatigue and hopelessness. If it wasn't for the constant churning of the vaporators providing water to barren mouths-they'd have all been mummified by noon.

She focused her eyes back upon the boy, Soon it would be supper and the process would repeat itself again. Luke would awaken and tinker with some spare parts Owen had lying around, until he was promptly reprimanded for getting too close to dangerous machinery that is. She'd prepare dinner whilst Owen taught Luke all he needed to know about moisture vaporators and machinery, the boy was becoming quite the mechanic-a natural. Depending on whether or not the boy had behaved himself or finished his chores-which she thought he was too young to be doing in the first place, he'd sometimes be allowed to travel to the outskirts of Anchorhead with Owen to pick up droids. His reward would be to fix them, and he did a fantastic job at it.

Truly a gifted and intelligent youngling, he'd grow up to be a fine adult she knew only that.

"5 more minutes Luke and then it's supper!" She shouted, the boy waved back and ran a short distance around there homestead, but not too far as to run out of sight. He looked happy and for that she was glad. He'd been suffering a lot lately, nightmares plagued him almost every night and as a result he'd be in a horrible mood all day-she was just glad that today was one of Luke's good days. She managed a smile, keeping her eyes firmly locked on the boy-even play time was a danger, especially when there was the threat of Tuskin Raiders attacking or murdering someone. It didn't matter whether you were rich or poor, Twi'lek or Human the Tuskin Raiders didn't discriminate-enemy was enemy regardless of your species and she wouldn't hesitate to grab the nearest blaster if she so much as suspected a Tuskin anywhere near her Nephew.

"You've done a fine job at raising him Beru." There was a slight shuffle behind her, she tensed up on instinct. He made her feel uneasy and insignificant next to the likes of him. She wasn't entirely fond of him, his constant harassment and loitering made her feel terrified for the safety of the boy she was supposed to be protecting and nurturing. Owen on the other hand compared him to a five year long plague, descended from the highest power imaginable with the sole purpose of destroying their Nephew and making their lives the living embodiment of suffering-she on the other hand wasn't so dramatic. It didn't mean she liked him any less. She had her reasons of course-and not ones she cared to repeat. She only wished he'd dispense with the pleasantries and make his intentions known, because this was becoming a little creepy.

"You should be thanking Owen, Ben." she mumbled.

Ben rubbed his aging beard in thought, his once vibrant auburn hair now facing the consequences of years under the Tatooine suns. "Perhaps I should." He mumbled, there was a pause "How is Owen keeping?" he asked, he managed a cheerful smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

She tried her best to refrain from rolling her eyes at him. For a former Jedi Ben could be quite passive aggressive, she knew he didn't care for her husband anymore than he did her—he only cared about one thing and that was Luke. It would work solely in his favour if anything were to happen to them both. His pleasantries were merely a facade of formality.

"The same as always. We're barely getting by, the Empire continues to raise Outer Rim taxes and the Hutt's just allow it, we're lucky we can still feed and clothe the boy." She wasn't lying, in the short 5 years since the Empire was formed out of the disaster that was the Clone Wars and the fall of the republic, the Empire had made a drastic leap towards controlling more Outer Rim planets; Tatooine included.

Rumours were that the Emporer had deployed Darth Vader to Tatooine to form an alliance with the Hutts in exchange for contraband and an effective way to reboot slavery—through a third party of course, but the truth of that is likely to never be properly validated.

"And the boy?" he asked

She turned to him and fixed him with a weary gaze "He's hardly your concern Ben." She replied back with the slightest hint of acidity to her voice.

His grey eyes burrowed into hers, she flinched back slightly at the hurt that flashed through them "I promised I'd watch over him." He stated.

She turned her back to him "You seem to be under the illusion that you've been doing a fine job at that." She muttered.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Ben always made her feel uncomfortable she could just never figure the old man out; he didn't really have a reason to continuously make his presence known, he'd always seemed to loiter around for far too long and that made her feel uneasy.

"I do as I must." He replied.

"I can see that." There was a pause "Why are you here Ben? Or should I call you Obi Wan? Anyone with half a brain can see that." Her passive aggressive tendencies could only get her so far before Owen would show up and cause yet another scene and the last thing she wanted was for Luke to be caught in the middle of it.

"No one knows I'm here and it will remain that way." She spun around to stare at him, his delusion never ceases to astound her, if anything it infuriated her. She was grateful that the man had brought Luke to them to protect but Ben wasn't even trying to hide who he used to be, he still wore the fine Jedi robes that she'd seen all over the HoloNet during the Clone Wars—granted they'd been stained, torn and aged by his long exile here on Tatooine. The locals weren't nearly as stupid as the galaxy had made them out to be; someone somewhere would know and it was only a matter of time before they came for her Nephew and she'd be damned if she let anyone lay a finger on that boy.

"For now. Look at you prancing around in your Jedi robes have you no shame! You're delusional as always Ben it'll only take one person to piece it together and then you'll bring the entire imperial fleet down upon us." She hissed pointing an accusing finger at him—her eyes like cold calculating daggers bore holes into his frail aged form.

He frowned "These people are illiterate Beru, half of them have never seen Coruscant let alone a Jedi, the boy is safe here." He explained

She glared "Enough of that! Owen has told you before that we do not require your protection." She tried to reason with the man, she always did. It was just that Ben chose not to listen—he was stubborn and relentless in his stalking. One day he'd get someone killed.

He raised his hands defensively "I'm not offering it; I'm only keeping the boy safe." He tried to reason.

"He does not need it! Do you not get that? You're playing a dangerous game Ben a game you cannot win; I will not allow you to continue to show your face here again!" She snapped, her patience running severely thin, she'd had this same argument every week with the man. It got so bad that her husband would get into physical altercations with Ben—she'd end up having to rush the crying youngling inside away from the brutal punching and kicking. She was fed up of it.

"That is not yours to decide." He replied

"I made a promise Ben, I promised to protect and nurture that boy and I will continue to do so until my dying breath, by continuing to show your face here you are putting him and us in grave danger, now do the galaxy a favour and stay out of Skywalker affairs before you poison another." She snapped, her temper and frustration reached a molten fury which threatened to bubble over and cause an explosion. She wouldn't turn into Owen, she forbid it. She would not get physical with Ben—that little boy was staying here whether the hermit liked it or not, he handed over all rights to the boy when he brought him to them.

She sighed and rubbed her sore temples,she could feel a killer migraine forming, kicking and scratching at her temples—if the suns didn't age her then Ben Kenobi surely would. "Please, leave the boy alone." She pleaded.

"Aunt Beru why are you so sad?" A small voice asked, she broke away from the man gaze to stare down at the youngling, he held a toy T-16 Skyhopper firmly to his chest, his blonde hair matted and sweaty and his clothes filthy from playing. He passed a look of worry between herself and the tall stranger— he tapped his fingers nervously against his toy, an anxious habit she noted.

She smiled and held one of Luke's small hands in her larger one "Do I look sad Luke?" she questioned.

He shook his head "Nah ah I felt it right here." He removed his hand from her grasp and pointed to his chest "I was playing and—and I suddenly felt you were sad." He explained "In my heart."

She frowned "Thank you for your concern Luke but I am fine, why don't you go inside and help Uncle Owen? I will join you shortly for supper." she gently motioned the boy inside, watching as he disappeared inside the homestead.

How had he done that? she knew that Luke was a very special child ever since the moment she'd laid eyes on his chubby little face.

This wasn't the first time something like this had happened—when he was two, she'd caught him levitating his breakfast cup a full meter of the ground. It had frightened her so much that she'd screamed at the poor boy causing him to drop the cup sending blue milk everywhere. Then at three he'd dreamed of his father and himself playing in the desert whilst having no prior knowledge of him—and now he could feel what she was feeling? When would this stop? Would it ever stop? Or would it continue to get worse the older he got? it sure felt like it.

She'd make sure he never developed it further for his own safety. The last thing she needed was for the boy to be taken away from her by the empire. It was the only way to keep him safe.

"The Force is extremely strong with him Beru, I can feel it." Ben broke her out of her thoughts.

She turned to him and glared "Don't speak of it." She snapped "_Never _speak of it." She hissed back and walked away from the man to seethe.

She walked towards the homestead and fixed him with one last furious glare.

"It is late, I hope you'll heed our warning and never return here again, but I doubt you care enough to do so." She muttered, fixing her mantle in a better position over her shoulders.

He reached out to grab her, but she flinched away, his grey eyes pleading—no, _begging_ "But the boy is strong even you can see it! If you'd only let me train him I co-"Ben pleaded

"No!" she yelled, abruptly cutting the man off from—she couldn't bear to hear anymore of his foolish ideals of using that boy as a weapon for whatever petty revenge he felt, she was over it.

"I will not allow you to poison his mind with Jedi propaganda, the Jedi are gone Ben every single one of them slaughtered, you told me yourself. I watched the HoloNet. I will not allow him to become another corpse piled up and rotting at the entrance to the imperial palace, take your crusade elsewhere because I'm over it." she teared up in frustration her eyes burned and her heart ached at the thought, Luke was no Jedi and so long as he lived under the Lars protection he never will be, it was for his own safety and she valued that far more than Ben did—she knew that fact as well as she knew her own face.

She would not allow Ben to use the boy for his own selfish crusade. Owen had warned her of this many times and she was quite frankly exhausted—both mentally and physically, what had she gotten herself into? Ever since Luke had come to live with them his very presence in their lives caused unnecessary strain.

The former Jedi let his guard slip for only a minute, but it was enough for her to see that the stress and trauma had aged the man and not gracefully either.

The once bright strong witted negotiator of the Clone Wars had now wasted away to nothing more than a shallow shell of his former self— plagued by regret and a deep sense of responsibility. His skeletal, tanned figure was nothing more than thin sheets of paper under a tattered clock. Her eyes watered as she abruptly turned away from him. Is this what being a Jedi did to a person? Did it only create broken angry people? If so she was glad that Luke would never be subjected to such a mundane existence.

She couldn't bear it for another minute. She didn't understand why he wouldn't just leave then alone—was it guilt? Did he feel guilty for what had happened to the Jedi? He looked tired – no frail, a frail old man who'd lost his purpose in life and allowed guilt and melancholy to eat at his soul and fester like an untreated wound.

She could almost sympathise as her husband, in a way, had lost his brother—just as Obi Wan had lost his. So in a way that explained his bizarre obsession with her charge—but didn't make her feel any better.

"Tell me, _why? _Why him?" she found herself asking.

"He is all I have left—I won't fail him, he is our last hope." He muttered back. It made sense now, Luke represented hope—hope for the future, hope for an end to oppression and ruthless indignation, slavery and dictatorship. Luke was the Bacta patch that was destined to heal a 5 year long wound which had festered for far too long.

It made sense, and yet she hated that his life was destined to become a complicated jumble just like his fathers—_no, _she forbade it, Luke wasn't anybody's last hope. He was Luke Lars, moisture farmer—he _would_ grow up to be happy, grow up to be _normal_, his life was his own and not for Ben to dictate.

She wiped her wet eyes on her sleeve and composed herself "Sleep well Master Kenobi." She muttered and made her leave.

_Hope_….

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I really hope you enjoyed it, please review and tell me what you think I do very much enjoy feedback. :)


	2. Chapter One

I need a Beta reader to help my dyslexic ass properly process words, sometimes I swear it jumbles and starts to look Swedish.

I own nothing

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**If you spot any grammatical mistakes or spelling ones please feel free to point them out so that I can fix them, sometimes they slip past me and I'm not all that good at grammar and spelling due to my dyslexia, I do use spell checker a lot. feedback is always greatly appreciated whether negative or positive. Enjoy :)**

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Chapter One

Hope is Reckless

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"Wooohooo!" blue eyes widened in awe as tiny particles of sand flew past his view finder, the sun's rays bounced of it slightly impeding his ability to see but it did not worry him for he'd done this many times before, he was a master at this, he knew the sky was where he truly belonged, it was in his blood.

His blonde hair was covered in sweat and sand which clung to his forehead like a wet rag, his small hands firmly clasp the controls until his knuckles turned white, he was truly meant to walk the sky.

He bit his lip in concentration, he was close he could feel it. It was only a little ways past Beggars canyon and then he'd find his destination, the stone needle a small ring-shaped rock formation which only the most elite pilots could past through, Luke was determined to be the youngest piolet alive to do it.

He knew the ride would be awfully risky as the harsh pointed brown rocks were a hazard many experienced pilots had warned him of, his uncle had warned him many times not to fly unattended let alone near the stone needle. The glare of the suns between the circular rock formation made it almost impossible for anyone to judge the distance and paired with the dangerous climate it was a huge risk, this place was further up in the mountains which trapped in heat and made it rise and cook anyone within minutes, he'd heard that some pilots even pasted out at the controls. But Luke Lars wasn't just anyone he was born to do this, he was born to be a pilot, the best one the galaxy had ever seen and he'd be damned if he let his paranoid uncle and some stupid rocks stand in his way of chasing his dream.

"Luke slow down you're coming in too fast!" His friend Biggs' voice made its concern known over his intercom, it's signal crackled as static distorted his voice slightly. He really needed to get that fixed, the stupid thing was older than him and sometimes malfunctioned in a way that would pick up other channels from across the galaxy, it truly was a fossil, but it was his fossil.

His Skyhopper was his pride and joy; his uncle had acquired it just after the Clone Wars and he'd got quite a bargain for it too, the model was outdated even back then and he'd got it second hand as a faster way to travel around Tatooine but Luke had other plans for it of course, he planned to convert it into a hyperspace compatible aircraft, capable of withstanding space and making advanced hyperspace jumps. He'd never been to space before, but he'd read all about ships, he was certain he'd be the best pilot in the galaxy. He's been making modifications to it to make it faster and handle better. He truly loved his hopper.

"Don't worry Biggs I got this!" he laughed his blue eyes sparkled with childish wonder. He made a quick glance back to see Biggs' Skyhopper not to far behind him he narrowed his eyes in challenge. Biggs' family were quite wealthy by Tatooine standards and could therefore afford the best for him, although he felt envious of his best friends Hopper as it was the newest model out he'd never made his feelings known since Biggs never treated him like he was below him so it just didn't seem fair for him to belittle him and act so cold towards his oldest friend.

Biggs rolled his eyes and adjusted his thrusters "Don't get too cocky Lars!" he teased and moved his Hopper behinds his young friends.

Luke stuck his tongue out at him and skilfully dodged past some nearby boulders and stared out in awe, he was so very close he was going to thread the needle and he'd do it before Biggs got the opportunity to do it, the thought made his heart swell with pride. "Shut up will you I got this!" he shouted; his eyes narrowed he was _so_ close.

He wiped his forehead and glanced at his sweaty hand, even from inside his Hopper he wasn't safe from the unbearable heat of the Tatooine suns, he thought he'd have gotten used to it by now but Tatooine was unpredictable and most importantly _dangerous._ He felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine and tingle in his bones, he fast approached the narrow opening of the stone needle and his heart began to beat at an impossibly fast pace, his hands tingled and shook with anxiety.

His eyes blurred slightly but he never moved his gaze away from the perfect opening. "_Warning! to low terrain! Warning! to low terrain!" _he glanced at the central control panel flashing it's warning in deep red texts "Oh no not good." He groaned.

"Luke watch out!" Biggs called out over his intercom, but it was too late.

He pulled up as sharply as he could but his left wing made a terrible sound as it scrapped against the left pillar, white and blue paint particles flew past his view finder, his heart pounded in his ears as the ship shook and spun, the constant spinning paired with the intense glare from the suns made him feel slightly disoriented and sick, his eyes throbbed at the glare and he was sure the sight had burnt holes in his retners . He grasped the forward thrusters and frantically hit the button for the stabilizers and by some short miracle made his landing launching himself forward in his seat and catching his forehead on the clutch controls.

"LUKE!" Biggs made his landing nearby and frantically ran towards the wreckage; his larger hands fiddled with the cockpit, he hissed as the metal scorched and blistered the palms of his hands, he managed to fumble it open but a part of him wished he hadn't, inside sat Luke looking smug as ever arms folded against his chest, eyes wide in stunned awe.

His shocked eyes met his and he burst out into hysterical laughter "That was amazing! Biggs, I did it!" he cheered, grasping the sides of his Hopper he jumped out and inspected the damage, a deep cut ran down his forehead, but he ignored it, to stunned to even acknowledge it.

Biggs glared at him, clearly unimpressed "You could have gotten killed!" he scolded slapping his arm lightly.

"I know! But I didn't!" he cheered in disbelief.

Biggs stared at his Hopper and signed; the damage was extensive it's a miracle Luke was still in one piece. Half of the left wing had completely fallen off somewhere and the right one was smoking, from the looks of it his stabilizers were fucked, and his engines fried, not the mention the broken view finder, Luke truly was lucky to be alive. "Look at your Hooper what's your uncle gonna say?" he questioned.

Luke stared at it and shrugged "Who cares it's my birthday!" he laughed "I can't believe I thread the needle on my birthday!" he cheered. He was sure that once the shock wore of Luke would start to panic, his uncle had given him strict orders to never fly, he was sure to go ballistic once he saw the extent of the damage to his most antique ship. Birthday or not Luke Lars would most likely be grounded for the next 2 seasons if he was lucky, but most likely for life—yep definitely for life.

Biggs sighed and rubbed a hand through his wet hair "You're impulsive Lars you're lucky you made 12." Biggs chuckled and patted his shoulder.

He chuckled "Let's head to Touché Station I think she's still alright to fly, plus I got to tell everyone about this!" he boasted.

Biggs stared at him in disbelief "You're kiddin right? Surely, you're not serious that things fried Luke, I'll call my dad to tow it to your uncles, hopefully by the time you get back he'd have calmed down."

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The short ride to Touché Station was uneventful He couldn't help but think about his Aunt and Uncle at home, they must be furious. He frowned and placed his head in his arms and watched the world go by from his seat in the speeder, there was nothing really to see just endless miles of desert and occasionally bones, but it was moments like this he treasured, it allowed him to contemplate and analyse his situation, he was reckless—uncle Owen had said so many times before that he was immature and reckless and one day that would get him killed if he wasn't careful.

His eyes glossed over, suddenly melancholy. He couldn't help it, he didn't know why trouble followed him everywhere he went, it stuck to him like a plague, it was in his blood to be reckless—whenever he went near a speeder his blood tingled and all logic went straight out of the window. Was his father the same way? He couldn't ever remember a time where he'd asked of him much beyond a name and gotten an honest answer—his father was dead he wasn't naïve uncle Owen had said so many times before, but that didn't stop him from wishing it wasn't true and that, by some miracle the mysterious man would come and take him away from his pain and help him to understand himself so much better than his uncle ever did. He was an outcast here, but at least they'd be outcasts together.

He allowed a stray tear to slide down his cheek, or so he thought. The harsh climate of Tatooine made his tears all but boil and evaporate before he could shed them.

_Father_

The word felt so alien to him, he'd never had a father of his own, he couldn't even remember his name, uncle Owen didn't allow him to ask questions about him which only fed his animosity because deep down he was jealous—jealous of his friends for having parents, jealous of the close relationship Biggs had with his parents that he'd never have. He felt unwanted—unloved and he knew he shouldn't, life wasn't horrible at home but it wasn't good either, Owen and Beru weren't his parents, he wasn't loved and wanted in the same way that his friends were and he never would be.

What his name again? Anniyen? Aviken? He couldn't remember.

He felt a gentle hand grasp his shoulder "Luke you okay buddy?" he turned to stare into Biggs' concerned eyes, he managed a smile and nodded "Just thinking." He mumbled

His eyes narrowed "Well, we're here buddy don't you wanna tell everyone about your hopper? You've been gloating about it nonstop since it happened."

He winced "You were right." He mumbled, folding his head into his arms some more, now that the initial excitement and adrenaline had worn away, he was replaced with a cold guilt that ate away at him slowly as the hours ticked by. He knew that what he did was beyond reckless and one wrong move would have gotten him killed he just wished his uncle would've understood why he'd done what he'd done, understood the helplessness that came over him when he saw a way out. He wouldn't understand—never would understand, he'd berate him until tears and ban him from flying, not that it stopped him from doing it anyway.

Biggs gently caressed his shoulder, it was meant to be comforting, but it wasn't. "About what kiddo?"

"My stupid uncle, he'll ground me for life." He whined, his blue eyes peeking out from under his blonde hair.

His friend smiled "Don't depress yourself Lars, I was just as reckless as you when I was your age." He reassured, but he could hardly believe it. Biggs Darklighter—reckless? He was always the voice of reason in his life, his best friend. They'd been friend for as long as he could remember; it was always Biggs that had his back and looked out for him, he supposed it was because he was older than himself, at 16 years old he was lucky to have him in his life so long. Not many avoided the military draft, especially out in the outer rim where Laws were but a phantom concept. It was only a matter of time before the Empire found him, every day they were edging closer and closer to the outer rim and as his Aunt said, "exploiting the good people." Whatever that meant. He never really cared all that much for politics—he didn't understand what they were fighting for and against all he knew was that he had to obey the Empire, or they'd be heavy prices to pay for his disloyalty.

He shuddered. His friend Windy recently had his father taken captive by the Empire, said something about being a rebel sympathiser—whatever that meant, he'd come back horribly disfigured missing fingers, teeth, tongue and eyes, the incident scarred his friend.

He looked at his friend, whose black hair clung to his forehead like a wet bacta patch, his skin was tanned from years under the Tatooine suns, it aged people over long exposer; he just wished it'd age him so he wouldn't continue to look 9. "You do not understand Biggs, he'll blow it way out of proportion, I-I'll never leave the house again." He sulked, slumping dramatically into his seat.

Biggs made a swift movement to get out of the speeder, he walked around to offer him his hand, but he just stared at it as though it was alien. He sighed "Come on I doubt that's true Kiddo, he'll be angry but give him a couple of days."

He buried his head back into his arms and sighed "More like years, my house will become the spire of Stygeon Prime." He mumbled, he knew it was petty to sulk, aunt Beru had told him so many times before "Do not sulk little boy, they're many in the galaxy who'd die for what you have." She'd lectured—yeah right, people would die for passive aggressive guardians? He highly doubted that, he'd rather be anywhere else but home right now.

He groaned, regretting even stepping foot out of the house today, birthday or not—he was always causing trouble and this time he'd be in for more than a lecture on responsible flying, heck, he wasn't even old enough to be flying. Why couldn't the Hopper just fix itself? Maybe if he closed his eyes and wished on it long enough it'd magically fix itself and he could go home and forget all about this dreadful day.

Biggs rolled his eyes "you're so dramatic Lars."

"Look it's Wormie!" he froze, he knew that voice. It was Camie Marstrap, she was a couple of years older than himself at only 14 years old, but he never really knew what to think of her. She was cold, he wasn't entirely sure if she was teasing him by calling him Wormie or other degrading pet names for his lack of height but she and her boyfriend Laze Loneozner always had something nasty to say to him. They were only civil with him because he was friends with Biggs, plus he didn't trust Laze at all he was 18 and involved in all sorts of dodgy stuff he'd rather not ask about, what was contraband and why did he go on about it so much?

He spun around and groaned, Laze had his arm wrapped around Camie's waist, there hair messy and clothes dirty. He'd rather not ask how they'd gotten that way. Behind them stood more of their friends, he wasn't entirely sure on their names, but they didn't look friendly. "Don't call me that!" he grumbled.

Camie smirked "What's the matter _Wormie_? You're supposed to be happy on your birthday." She teased.

"He's just upset he crashed his Hopper." Biggs stepped in for him, and he was glad for it.

Laze analysed him with his dark brown eyes, he shuddered slightly and looked away. Laze broke out into a grin. "Happy birthday Runt, how old are you now?"

He looked up from his arms "Twelve." He mumbled back.

He moved closer to the speeder and fiddled around inside his tunic pulling out a poorly wrapped parcel of some kind, it had Imperial Trade logos on it and had obviously been through a lot before ending up in Laze's hands. "I got something for ya then, here." He handed him the parcel and he examined it some more, apart from the labels it was circular in nature.

He looked up at Laze's grinning face and raised his brow. "What is this?" he asked.

He rolled his eyes "A gift, have you never had a gift before? Open it." he pressed, his friends snickered at his inexperience.

He looked over the Biggs who shrugged and stood nearby, he turned to look at Camie and Laze with suspicion, Laze was never nice to him, so why would he get him a gift? It just didn't make any sense. He shrugged his shoulders and tore into the wrapping revealing a bottle of some sort, the liquid inside seemed to be of a crimson colour but he struggled to tell with the dark coloured glass which held it. "Why would you give me a gift? I don't even know what this is." He asked.

Laze smirked "Corellian wine, finest in the galaxy you're a man now 'bout time you started actin' like it." He patted his shoulder roughly and he flinched in his seat.

Luke frowned "Where did you get this?"

He smirked "Imperial shipment to Coruscant, those braindead bucketheads left the crates in the open I seized the opportunity." Laze boasted.

He stared "But that's stealing!" He exclaimed

"Who's around to stop me? You? Good luck with that Runt" He smirked, his taller frame smacked Luke on the head roughly, he winced at the treatment.

He screwed open the bottle and took a sniff, the pungent scent immediately repelled him back somewhat, Camie and Laze cackled. The scent wasn't pleasant, it reminded him of the type of drinks his Aunt and Uncle would have around life day, foul smelling and forbidden. He rubbed his nose to try and rid himself of the acidic smell radiating from the bottle, it burnt his nostrils whenever he breathed it in. why did adults drink this stuff it can't be good for you?

Camie leaned over the side of the speeder and smiled, not a pleasant smile. "What're you waiting for take a sip Wormie!" Camie taunted.

He shook his head and held the bottle to Laze "I shouldn't." he protested.

"Do it!" Laze's friends began to surround the speeder, Biggs was pushed uncomfortable close to the side of it, but all protests died on his lips.

"Honestly Lars it'll be fine, just take a sip and discard it on your way home, you don't want any trouble." Biggs whispered in his ear.

"Is this even safe? You are supposed to be the voice of reason here." He protested.

Camie leaned back of the speeder and rolled her eyes. "he's scared, Wormie's a coward." She taunted. "I dunno why, you're late to the party anyway, Fixer's been drinking since he was 7." He looked down at the drink, shame overwhelmed him as his cheeks turned red. Laze had been drinking since he was 7. Was that even safe? Why hadn't Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru let him do it sooner then?

He glared at her and grabbed the bottle back from Laze. "Am not!" he angrily protested.

She glared back "Then do it! What're you waiting for." She urged.

He closed his eyes tightly and pressed the bottle up to his lips, allowing the liquid to pour inside. It was bitter but not unpleasantly so, strangely enough the longer he kept it in his mouth the sweeter it became. Screwing his eyes tighter he took a fierce gulp and cringed as the liquid burnt its way down his throat and settled in his empty stomach like acid. It left an unpleasant aftertaste in his throat and left his tongue feeling furry.

Hands shaking slightly, he took another mouthful of the liquid and found this one to be a lot sweeter than the last. It had this strange effect on him that he didn't quite understand, but the more mouthfuls he took the calmer and giddier he became. His head felt empty, like it was pumped full of warm air that jumbled his thoughts with every sudden movement. He couldn't really concentrate on much at all. He swore he could feel it tingling and burning in his very blood. Strange.

He barely registered the firm grasp of his hand as it removed the bottle. He felt sick, his head was spinning worse than any Hopper crash. The speeder door was opened, and he was turned around to face Biggs, his friend's hands firmly placed onto his shoulders, holding him there.

"You've had enough buddy." He frowned, his friend's voice whispered near his ear, but he couldn't remember him ever moving that close, his voice sounded so far away, why couldn't he think straight? He didn't like this—he didn't like this at all, he was scared.

He took in a shaky breath and placed his feet firmly on the ground, or at least he hoped he had. When he stood up the ground begun to spin worse, his legs shook, and he lost his footing and fell straight onto the floor.

Biggs rushed to his side "Careful Luke, come on take it easy you're very sick." He sounded—scared? He'd never heard Biggs ever sound this scared about anything before and it unnerved him. He rolled onto his back and frowned. It was dark, this was bizarre, was he dreaming? He could have sworn it was afternoon when he'd taken his first gulp. When he concentrated, he realised that Camie, Laze and their gang had gone and he was cold, the cold air biting into his skin and teasing his bones with every caress. What happened?

He groaned "M-my head." He whimpered.

Biggs helped him stand on shaky legs and shifted his small frame back over to the speeder. "I should get you back home." He said, it sounded more like a mumble to him.

His head was so fuzzy it hurt. Biggs reached over to clasp his seatbelt firmly around his torso. He couldn't go home in his state, he was disoriented, he felt sick uncle Owen would only get more upset if he saw him. He bolted up and struggled weakly against the seatbelt "N-no." he mumbled.

Firm large hands pushed him back down into his seat until he stopped struggling, he felt weak, where was his energy? Why did it feel as though his senses were more alert? He could hear every single bug which crawled across the sand, smell every stench in the air, even Biggs' strong cologne. "Luke you fainted, I'm not a medic you could have been seriously hurt." Biggs explained his eyes wide with concern and fear. He'd fainted? He couldn't have he would have remembered doing so? But it would explain the loss of time and why he felt so disoriented.

"I said no!" he snapped, He didn't need to go home, he _needed _to find a way to fix this, Aunt Beru would probably faint if she saw him. If the Hopper didn't get him grounded for the rest of his life this surely would.

Biggs grew impatient "You're unbelievable! You drunk the whole bottle, that's not safe for an adult let alone you, a twelve-year-old boy, you could be suffering from severe alcohol poisoning." He snapped back.

"I-I feel fine." He mumbled back. He knew he didn't, and that Biggs was most likely right, he felt horrible he could bare keep his eyes open in his state. He leaned back against the seat and carefully moved his hands in front of his face, they were shaking, and his world still hadn't stopped spinning. He took in a shaky breath and fond his eyes to be a lot sharper than he remembered them to be.

Biggs fiddled around in his pocket and threw him a water stick, he fumbled around with it for a few minutes before opening it. "I'm not a babysitting droid Luke! You need to grow up I'm not always going to be around to make sure you preserve your life and stay out of trouble." Biggs lectured.

"I don't need you too, it was an accident!" he defended himself as best as he could in his foggy state, he had to admit that the water had worked millions on him, it helped him to think clearly for a little while which was a plus.

Biggs sighed and flopped into the driver's seat. "Everything seems to be a constant accident to you." He whispered

Biggs was right, he knew he was, but he was too proud to admit it too him, he was a disaster. Even on his birthday of all days he'd managed to mess everything up so badly. Why did Uncle Owen even keep him around this long? He felt a stabbing ache in his heart, it wasn't uncommon, but he knew he'd start crying soon if he continued this talk, he shuddered and sniffed back the tears he knew were coming. "I can't help it okay? Don't turn into my uncle, not today." He whispered

His friend huffed and clasped his own seat belt firmly shut and leaned against his window in silence. "You don't know how lucky you truly are kiddo." Biggs muttered back, breaking the uncomfortable silence which hung awkwardly between them. He hated silence, it always made things worse than better Aunt Beru would do it whenever she knew he was right, it was her way of attempting to be a bigger person. He found it damn right patronizing; he didn't need it from Biggs as well.

He didn't know why it made him angry, he felt it all bubbling over. He wasn't lucky, if this was lucky then he'd hate to see unlucky. He wanted freedom, he wanted to go wherever he wanted without his uncle screaming at him later, he wanted to fly, he was practically an adult by Tatooine standards so why did everyone feel the need to patronize him constantly? "Really? Because I am not! You know nothing of my situation." He choked back the rising feeling in his chest as best as he could, it wasn't fair. After today he'd never get off this rock.

A hand rested gently on his shoulder "I know not having a dad has been hard for you, you look for him in everyone, even me. But I'm not your dad and I can't look out for you forever." His friends' tone was gentle, his hand gently rubbing his shoulder, it was meant to comfort him but only angered him further. He flinched away from the hand.

"I do not want you to be my father, just kriff off about it alright?" He cried, his barrier of self-preservation broken by just one word—one word and he always seemed to crumble, and he didn't understand why, why it hurt him so much to think of him. Was he happy amongst the stars? He hated to ask but he wondered how he felt leaving him behind.

Biggs sighed and flopped back in his chair, his brown eyes stared at the stars for a little while before moving to fix his gaze back onto him "You should treat your uncle with more respect, he's done a damn good job to raise you, he could've turned you away to Family Services." He said.

His shoulders were shaking from his crying, his eyes red and sore from rubbing so hard at them, he was turned away from his friend he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of his tears, didn't want him to know he'd won this fight. "Stop talking about it, just drive me home." He mumbled through his tears wiping snot on sleeve.

"Very well." He muttered back, moving over to start up the speeder. They drove in silence for a little while, which he was thankful for, it allowed him to gain his composure.

His friend sighed "I know you're hurting Luke, but doing dangerous stunts will only get you killed faster, do you want that?" he explained

He wasn't sure what he wanted right now, maybe home he didn't know he just wished he could get the argument with his uncle over and done with quickly so that he could forget this terrible day. He remained silent.

"I see." Biggs replied.

He sighed and sat up in his seat rubbing his eyes dry once more. "I do not understand why I think of him." He replied.

His friend smiled, a strained smile. "He's your dad you miss him, it's natural." He replied.

He looked back out the window, his homestead was in the distance and his anxiety seemed to be waiting there for him. "But…I never knew him." He whispered.

_Never knew him_

* * *

His anxiety skyrocketed the second he saw the destroyed Skyhopper parked intimidatingly at the side of the homestead, mocking him for his recklessness. He bit his lip and fiddled nervously with his hands before turning to Biggs who was too busy driving to notice his growing hysteria.

"I-I thought you said your dad fixed it for me." He shakily enquired, he could hear his heart in his ears, Uncle Owen would be utterly furious with him, it wasn't the first time he'd displeased his uncle, it just seemed the older he got the more of a burden he became to the old man. He already knew that his presence had been a burden since the second he was brought to his Aunt and Uncle; it was his Aunt Beru who'd convince the man to let him live with them.

Biggs turned to him and frowned "I said my dad would move it home for you, I never said he'd fix it." He replied, tapping his fingers against the clutch controls. He was nervous, Luke could see that. Biggs didn't want to end up being blamed for what had happened. He frowned; he should be equally to blame in his opinion.

He bit his lip and felt a sickly stir of anxiety swim around in his stomach. His stomach acid suddenly boiling to an excruciating stir which boiled in his blood and left him agitated. The effects of what he'd drunken hadn't fully worn off yet, he still felt weak and disoriented. He wondered if this was just another late side effect of his recklessness. "B-but my Uncle." He weakly protested.

His friend stopped the speeder outside his homestead and fixed him a worried half smile. "Just be the bigger person and admit you're sorry and it won't happen again, the worst he can do is ground you." He advised, his larger tanned hands rested gently on his shoulders, giving him a comforting squeeze.

He looked around and tensed in his seat. It was way past his curfew, I knew only that. The twin suns had long since set and the sky lit up the desert with thousands of tiny stars, he wondered if each star had a planet and whether someone out there was feeling the exact same as himself. A light foggy mist settled on the ground as the once scorched surface rapidly cooled down and recovered from the vicious on slaughter of the suns heat. The effect was always one of the most beautiful things about Tatooine, when the suns set it left a colourful almost otherworldly mist which covered the distant sand dunes in a blanket of colour, without the proper equipment it was almost impossible for someone to navigate themselves through the desert at night and not to mention extremely dangerous.

The tuskin raider camps of Tatooine usually made their raids at night, where security was not as tight and visibility near zero. His Uncle had fought some of them off over the years, but others were not so lucky. Camie had her speeder stolen and her mother beaten to a bloody mess when a band of 20 tuskins invaded her homestead and ransacked the place. Tuskins always held animosity towards the human population of Tatooine, Aunt Beru told him that over the last 30 years it had gotten worse, an urban legend he was often told by other locals was that a man once slaughtered a village of Tuskins seemingly in a fit of uncontrollable rage. He shuddered, no wonder they wanted revenge.

He sighed and just admired the sky for a moment, it always seemed like his freedom was so close yet always so very far away. "I don't want to be grounded." He mumbled.

His friend removed his grip and sighed "Tough luck, your actions have consequences." He replied.

He frowned at that "I didn't hear you rushing to stop me, if anything you encouraged me." He countered.

There was a silence, an awkward one.

"And I regret that." His friend eventually replied, his voice laced with fatigue, whether it was about the time or himself he didn't know. Either way it rubbed him the wrong way.

He turned his head to stare at his friend, who made every move to avoid eye contact, he was busy fiddling with controls. "You're just happy you're off the hook for now." He mumbled.

Biggs jerked back from the controls as if they'd burnt him. He fixed him a cold glare, frustration boiled beneath his brown eyes "Look I've had enough of your self-righteous attitude for today Luke, I moved it and drove you home the least you could do is thank me." He snapped.

He jolted out up out of his laid-back position and fixed his friend with an equally as cold glare. Thank him for what? Why was Biggs suddenly being so cold towards him? He always thanked him and helped him out he just couldn't understand why he'd say something like that. He knew he was thankful, so he didn't bother saying it this time, surely, he'd known, right? "Thank you for what? Getting me in trouble for the hundredth time?" he replied, his shock was evident on his face.

The disbelief in his friends eyes soon turned to rage "You get me in trouble all the time, you never bother to help me out!" he hissed back, his hands fiddled something and suddenly his door was unlocked and opening itself.

Was he really kicking him out? "That's not true and you know it, I help you all the time, you're a big lair." He protested.

"Really? When?" his friend accused, his eyes scrutinized his every move as he moved to grab his discarded back at his feet. His hands clumsily grabbed it and fiddled awkwardly with it for a moment, the alcohol had really messed with his motor skills.

"Look can we just not argue right now?" he pleaded

His friend turned away from him and huffed "Fine, goodnight." He replied plainly.

"Whatever." He mumbled back, dragging his feet across the sand as he made his decent towards his home stead, he felt more like he was doing a death march to his own funeral. He took in a deep shaky breath and entered.

* * *

Hands immediately smothered him, the smell of lavender assaulted his senses and his shoulders seized up in terror. "Where have you been!" Aunt Beru's form held him at arm's length, her hands placed firmly onto his shoulders, her eyes were wide in terror and every wrinkle on her face was crinkled up in concern, her eyes analysed his filthy form with such a possessiveness that it made him shiver.

"I-." he was so frozen by the frantic display of concern that he'd stumbled on his words. Aunt Beru had never rushed at him like this before, it frightened him and made his already fragile composer waver and threaten to collapse.

Gentle hands grabbed his face, he heard her inhale suddenly. His blood froze in his veins "What happened to your face? You're filthy! Were you attacked?" she frantically grabbed a washcloth from the refresher and dabbed his sliced face with the tenderness of a new-born. He'd been so caught up in the events of today that he'd totally forgotten about the deep gash running down his face. He flinched as the washcloth dabbed over the cut, scrapping dry blood, sweat and sand from the wound causing him to winced in pain and discomfort.

She dragged his arm and led him into the refresher, grasping him under his arms she lifted him to sit on the side of the sink. She rummaged around the refresher looking for medical supplies, before coming back with a mirror, a tube of bacta spray and a gentle anti septic and cotton pads.

They sat in silence as she treated his wound, he winced when the anti-septic stung his face painfully, it felt like someone had placed vinegar into his wound it stung so bad. His eyes watered but he made no move to stop her nurturing touch, he deserved the pain.

He looked down at his hands which were caked in dirt, his nails cracked he suddenly felt very self-conscious. "I-is Uncle Owen home?" he whispered

The dabbing stopped for a moment before continuing, this time slightly rougher than before "He's outside you better get dressed and talk to him-." She replied, her tone held far more composer than before, she said it almost diplomatically.

Her words were cut off by a loud crash, the door to the refresher clanked heavily against the wall, he sat up stiffly, his eyes wide with terror, Aunt Beru stopped her work and gently grasp his shoulder, her eyes blank.

"You better explain yourself real quickly boy." His Uncle stood in the doorway, his large frame seething with and anger which threatened to boil over and light the homestead a flame. He'd never seen anything quite like it before, his eyes her almost crazy looking with rage. He'd never disobeyed his uncle much beyond a refusal to do a chore.

"I-I." he stumbled over his words, his small fatigued frame shivered and shook like a leaf, his anxiety boiled over to an almost dangerous level. His Aunt grabbed his small quivering hands in her own, but the action did nothing to easy his hysteria.

"Do you have _any idea _what time it is?" his uncle hissed, pointing a large, chunky finger in his direction.

He remained silent, afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would make the situation worse, he didn't really trust himself to say anything intelligent.

His uncle inhaled sharply; his nostrils flared as he held back himself from exploding. They'd gotten into arguments before, but it was always a quick slap, or he'd be sent to his room for a while. "it's O two hundred, your curfew was twenty hundred, where have you been _boy_?" he sneered, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

He stared at his feet, he wanted to lie, but he knew it was wrong of him to lie, people didn't like lairs—he didn't like liars, so he sugar coated the truth only slightly, the last thing he wanted was for his Aunt and Uncle to know that he has been flying and drinking. "T-touche station." He stammered.

He frowned "All day? I find that hard to believe." He replied, his tone held his usual patronizing tone only this time it was much worse.

He mumbled under his breath, he didn't need his right now his head felt woozy and his limbs felt sore, he just wanted to go to sleep and forget he ever woke up and maybe—by some miracle he'd go to sleep and never wake back up. He didn't want to face them now, let alone in the morning when he'd be coherent enough to take it.

Aunt Beru grasp his face with both her hands, her stare was unnerving, what was she looking at? She'd already tended to his cut why did she feel the need to look at him like that? He didn't like it. He groaned as his stomach did a 180 as his bile bubbled and rose, he swallowed it back down and tried his best not to shudder, he felt warm—why did he feel so warm?

She placed a cold hand to his forehead and wiped his filthy mattered hair from his forehead. He didn't feel so good suddenly, and it wasn't just his anxiety. He felt sick. "Luke…Have you been, have you been…drinking?" his aunts eyes widened in horror and her hand gently caressed his cheek whilst the other remained firmly on his forehead. He was grateful for the coldness of it, he was burning up, threatening to erupt and slowly cook, just like his nightmares he shuddered.

He looked down in shame at his shaky hands he couldn't bear to lie to her but he also couldn't face telling them the truth, after all it wasn't his fault, how was he to know that it'd make him sick?

His uncle grabbed his chin roughly, pushing away his aunt's gentle touch, he winced at the treatment. "Answer your Aunt when she asks you a question, have you been _drinking?" _he sneered, his patience running severely thin at the total disrespect he was being shown.

He shuddered "I-it wasn't my fault-"he weakly protested.

"You are too young to be drinking boy!" he roared his grip tightened to a point where he was sure it would leave bruises if he wasn't careful.

His Aunt recoiled back in disgust, knocking medical supplies all over the floor in her moment of shock "Luke how could you!" she cried.

Guilt consumed him like he'd never felt it before, it quite frankly festered and left a deep-seated feeling of disappointment and rage. It wasn't his fault! It was all Camie and Laze's fault! They'd been the ones to antagonise him, he'd just wanted to prove to them that he was an adult just like them—and that whatever they could do he could do also! Plus, Biggs said it was alright for him to do it and he was older. "It was an accident!" he cried

His Uncle's glare burnt hole into him. He knew-he _knew._ One look and his uncle could make him feel so inadequate; could make him spill all his secrets and sins, all it took was one look and suddenly nothing was more frightening than lying to him, his stomach knotted and pounded against his flesh in defiance. His uncle always made him want to run and hide like the five-year-old timid boy he used to be, he wasn't five anymore! And he refused to let his uncle look at him like _that _– make him feel guilty, inadequate, not again, he was a grown up now and he expected to be treated like one!

"Just like my Skyhopper, _boy_?" he spoke calmly, but his eyes betrayed him. the beast behind them carefully caged, waiting for a moment to strike—a moment to _consume_ him. It was a test, a game. He'd wanted to wear him down, break away his fragile shields of self-preservation and confidence until he admitted what he'd done, how badly he'd messed up today, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of his surrender. He was stubborn, just like his father—and in a way his uncle was the same.

He paled and bit his lip, a careful tenacity burnt fiercely behind his blue eyes "I-I didn't mean to." He shook, his resolve slowly crumbled as he struggled to fight back, his intoxicated state made it difficult for him to think coherent sentences, he just wanted to forget about today, his twelfth birthday—maybe it would be simpler if for once in his life he gave in, stopped fighting—stopped trying to be the bigger person, stopped being stubborn; it was a far cry from his mind set only seconds ago, he knew that. He needed his uncle to understand him, just for once—listen.

"You flew my hopper, didn't you?" his question held a slight hiss, a warning. His aunt stood awkwardly by his side her eyes stared at him, but no emotion seemed to pass over them because she didn't want it to, it hurt; she'd cut the cord, severed him from her affections and his young mind couldn't entirely understand why.

He flinched and looked down "Yes..." he softly replied, she didn't trust him, didn't want to hear what he had to say—but why would she? It disappointed him that she'd not even thought about how he felt about this whole thing, she was always the voice of reason in his life; the one who held him when he cried, stuck up for him when things got a little to much for him, comforted him when he felt fragile and –lonely? Only to selfishly severe their connection when he messed up, shutting him out and shattering all thoughts of apologising and explaining himself. She didn't care about his feelings.

"After I strictly told you not too." He coldly added.

"Yes…" he whispered

Uncle Owen approached him, keeping a safe distance between himself and the sink he was occupying and for a moment he just stared at him, a thousand emotions flashed throw his brown eyes, Sadness, Betrayal, disappointment—_anger. _"And you think of yourself as being above my rules now do you boy?" he shouted; his saliva escaped his mouth in tiny droplets as he unleashed his pent-up fury. He flinched back from his seated position, wincing as he fell into the sink, droplets of expelled saliva dropped onto his face and mingled with his sweaty forehead.

"N-no sir." He stumbled, grasping the sink, pushing himself out of it to stand in front of his uncle, who's giant frame towered over him like the great zillo beast had over coruscant so long ago.

He squared him up his cold glare, brown met blue in a tenacious battle of wit and so far, his uncle was winning. "_Then, Why." _He grasped his chin harshly, forcing his small face suffocating close to his own "Did you _crash _my Skyhopper." He hissed.

His wide blue eyes stared. "I-I just wanted to…fly." He whispered

The grip of his chin loosened as his uncle let out a fierce cackle, the awkwardness of it caught him off guard momentarily "Well congratulations you've just earned an award for the _worst_ pilot in the entire galaxy, I hope you're proud of yourself." He remarked mockingly

Aunt Beru gently wrapped an arm around uncles "Owen please-"she started

"No!" he snapped, releasing her hold on him, his finger pointed accusingly at her "He is irresponsible, he is drinking! And obviously finds himself to be above my rules now." He shouted.

He silently seethed watching the two of them bicker about his so-called disrespect and irresponsibility. His breathing came out in laboured pants, his chest aching and his blood tingling as his temper rose—how_ dare_ his uncle call him a bad pilot? He was the best pilot in the outer rim! His friends had all told him so, flying was what he was born to do, he'd been doing in since he was 6 years old! What did his uncle know about anything? He never took an interest in what he liked to do, never encouraged him to be the best version of himself—it_ infuriated _him to be disrespected in such a way, hit at the heart of his insecurities and told he was the worst at the only thing he knew he was the best at. Afterall it was _Luke Lars _who'd thread the needle, a task thought impossible for even the most experienced pilots; he'd show his uncle not to hit at his insecurities like that. "I'm not a bad pilot! I thread the needle."

He snapped back; in a moment of anger he'd felt better. Felt like he'd meant something to the world other than being an orphan of a bunch of moisture farmers. For a split second he felt better, it felt good to wash away the humiliation he felt from never feeling like he was good enough in his Uncle's eyes—but the elation was gone the second he'd opened his mouth and muttered those words; replaced with a humiliation deeper than just being inadequate in his uncles eyes—he'd proved him right. He'd lashed out, that's what his uncle had wanted, he wanted a reason to ground him, when he already had one; perhaps he was lashing out now in spite? He closed his mouth firmly shut in horror and stared at his Aunts conflicted orbs staring back at him, he tried to swallow down the feeling that he'd dug a hole for himself even deeper—so deep that he felt there was no way he could possibly talk his way out of it. He truly hated himself.

"_You_ what?" their disbelief, chilled him to the core, his anxiety rising once more to nibble at his skin and fester just long enough to allow his stomach bile to rise once more. "I-I'm sorry." He replied, his voice wavering and no longer confident. All previous anger had dissolved into an overbearing shiver that prickled and goose bumped his filthy skin.

"Do you have a death warrant boy! How could you be so stupid? You deliberately disobeyed me!" his Uncle screeched, he smashed the palm of his hand harshly against the sink surface behind him, trapping him between the surface and himself.

Tears prickled his tired eyes and every cautious blink felt scratchy as sand particles irritated his corneas and burnt his tear ducks. It's my birthday!" he snapped back

His Uncle stepped back from there heated position and tore at his thinning grey hair in frustration "I do not care if it was Empire Day boy, you do not disobey me, and you do _not _have the right to go and do as you please!" he snapped back, seething, his temples throbbed from the stress, he knew he was developing a killer headache that was bound to be a migraine by the end of this mess.

He shook against the counter, he didn't think he had the strength to move from his position, he felt sick, dizzy—what was wrong with him? "I thought you would let me because it's my birthday." He whispered.

"I do not care for your birthday! You are a reckless uneducated, mess!" he scolded, his words cut deeper than any wound he could ever possible get from flying, this was what his uncle really thought of him—his was _his _own words, and nothing made him want to curl up and cry more than that. He didn't have a father or mother to run to, didn't have anyone else who cared about him—he only had his aunt and uncle; and, even they didn't want him—thought of him as a disappointment, _uneducated, reckless _a_ mess. _

His aunt gently grasps his shoulder bringing him into her warm embrace, it usually calmed him, made him feel so much better when nothing else ever did. He didn't mean to cause them so much trouble, didn't mean to skip school and constantly get kicked out, didn't mean to let his mind take over and drive him to do dangerous things—he couldn't explain it, it was this thing inside him, it constantly told him to do things—made him anxious for not obeying it, made his him feel as though every cell in his body was tingling for adventure—danger, he'd always been like it, always difficult and he couldn't understand why he was like this, why he acted so erratically, so _reckless. _

"Owen! He is _twelve." _His aunt scolded; her tone held more authority than usual. She kept him clutched to her tight, his tears running down his cheek in a silent stream of pent up frustration and hurt. His eyes stung and his head pounded, he pressed his face into her dress not caring if his snot and tears soiled her dress and made his face sticky and itchy. He was already filthy; he hadn't showered in a week.

His uncle paced his breathing became erratic, his thoughts a jumbled mess of twelve years of pent up frustration and displeasure, it was bound to come out eventually he only regretted that it had to have been the boy's birthday. "I do not care! He has gone too far! I should have seen it coming, he is becoming more and more like his father! I should've known that dirty blood would cause me problems!" he shouted, his voice seemed so much louder and more pronounced as it bounced off the refresher walls.

He wiped his wet and puffy face with his filthy sleeve "M-my father." He mumbled, pushing his aunt away.

His uncle glared once more "I told you too forget it." He snapped.

Fury built up in him. He couldn't do this anymore, he couldn't stand the secrecy, he needed to know—he _deserved _to know. This was his father after all, a man he'd dreamt of every night since he was three years old! A man he longed to just talk to, longed to fly away from this dust ball with. And the one person who could tell him _anything _about him was keeping _everything_ from him. It was selfish, unfair! He was sick of it all, sick of seeing everyone have parents, sick of postponing parent—child meetings at school because he was so humiliated to be the only one there who didn't have either. Sick of the ruthless teasing and bullying from those who were more privileged than he—sick of everything being so…_complicated… _

Biggs had said that you can wish for one thing for your birthday, you couldn't tell anyone, but it almost always came true; he'd soon found that to be just an illusion, a farce created to give people false hope. He'd wished for his father every time and he never _returned _never came to get him… He'd been told he was dead—but he'd also been told he was _alive? _He wanted to know, that was his wish this year.

_He wanted to know the truth_ "No!" he shouted, his temper reaching a boiling point.

His uncle recoiled back, he hadn't expected such a fierce response, such hatred in someone so young "I'm sorry?" he replied, his confusion evident in his tone.

His balled up his fists, tears once again streamed down his cheeks and wet the collar of his shirt "I am sick of you Uncle, sick of you treating me so badly." he shouted

He laughed at the audacity of such a statement "Badly? If it wasn't for me, you would be a dirty orphan boy." He snapped back.

He took in a deep breath, trying so desperately to steady his boiling rage, his eyes were sore and puffy, his fists clenched so tightly they were white. "I demand to know who my father is!"

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only by his rapid inhalations and sniffles as he tried to stop the mucus from leaking out of his nose.

"Go to your room, you will wake up tomorrow and fix the Hopper, you will not leave your post until it's done, am I clear?" his uncle plainly replied, his tone left no room for arguments, but he wasn't going to back down—not this time!

He shook his head in disbelief, he Aunt grasp his shoulder to try and get him out of the refresher but he violently lashed out, pushing her hands away from his—he didn't want her comfort, didn't want her to suddenly pretend to care; he was hurt and she wouldn't stop him from learning about the truth—not this time. "No! I am not doing that! Not until you tell me who my father is, I deserve to know!" he angrily protested.

"You're pushing your luck very thin tonight boy." His uncle threatened

"Tell me!" he cried, his frustration reached an impossible climax as he hiccupped back his tears and raging anxiety.

He fixed him a glare so cold and devoid of emotion that it made his tears freeze on his cheeks, he looked—defeated? "You want to know?" he hissed.

"Yes!" he pleaded, rubbing fiercely at his eyes until they were puffy and sore.

"Owen don't! -" his Aunt tried to protest, but nothing could stop it now, nothing could stop and make him forget what he was about to hear—nothing could make it right ever again.

His uncle painfully grasped his shoulders, kneeling until he was level with him, brown eyes met blue and for a second the only emotions that passed between them was defeat, hopelessness and a molten fury. "Your father was a maniacal mad man, who murdered millions of women and children without so much as a second thought. Despite your _filthy_ blood I took you in and made you safe, now you will shut your mouth and go to your room or you'll regret it."

His blood froze in his arteries.

_Mass murderer?_

_Murdered millions…_

He choked back a sob, his disgust boiled, and a scream lodged itself within his throat, he tried to get it out, but it didn't budge. His hands shook violently from the shock of it, internal tremors shook his body like he'd never felt before, every nerve within his body shook and cried, protesting and lurching his brain into a panicked frenzy of jumbled thoughts and raging emotions fiercer than any sand storm. He…he couldn't breathe! His chest burned as if the very oxygen within his lungs was trying to escape through a thin tube! He was initiating self-destruct and setting his lungs alight with a molten acid the likes of which he'd never seen. His vision blurred and suddenly everyone and everything seemed so very far away, voices echoed in his mind, but he couldn't make sense of anything—not when his chest was constricting and his vision failing.

He collapsed to the refresher floor with a fierce cry of anguish, he couldn't have! His father was a pilot like himself, he'd, he'd told him so before, many times! He took in a sharp pained breath, his minded raced through thousands of different scenarios until it suddenly occurred to him.

His uncle was lying.

He screamed; he'd lied to him! He'd done it again! He'd won—he'd done this all to get back at him for his moment of confidence! Said it to hurt him, to…to _spite _him! His uncle always lied; his uncle always lied. He looked up through blurry eyes at the concerned faces of his guardians and glared "you're a big lair, you always lie!" he shouted through tears.

His uncle turned away and rubbed his face "Believe what you wish but I will hear no more from you tonight, you are grounded for the next 4 seasons." He replied

He let out another cry "That's not fair!" he protested

"Life is never fair my boy." His uncle mumbled back.

"I-I hate you! I never want to see you again! You ruin everything, you ruined my birthday!" he sobbed and screamed, his aunt crouched down onto the floor and took him into her arms, this time he didn't fight—he pressed his face into the crook of her neck and sobbed, she patted his back and whispered reassurances to him, despite her anger at him for his outburst she allowed him the time he needed to calm down and centre his thoughts and emotions together properly.

"You ruined it perfectly fine on your own." He laid there until he was perfectly content once more, exhausted and puffy faced he laid against her pitifully sniffling. The scent of her perfume calmed him, just like it always did.

_He murdered millions…_

He hiccupped against the soft material of his aunt's mantel.

_Lies, all lies…_

* * *

Thank you for reading! Please review and tell me what you thought and thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited!

KisaraTheDragonCharm 😊

Friday 21st February 2020


	3. Chapter Two

**I have the creativity of a well-used toilet brush, nice to meet ya. **

**I own nothing **

**I've had to up the rating as this chapter has some dark imagery.**

* * *

Chapter Two

Awakening

* * *

He didn't entirely remember how long they'd left him in the refresher, there bickering bellowed ominously from behind the door, his head felt fuzzy—_disconnected_, like he was here but so very far away, he felt—_Empty? Conflicted?_ He didn't entirely understand what was going on with him right now, all he knew was that he was a tight ball of conflicted emotions and bubbling anxiety that he struggled so desperately to understand.

"He's spiralling Beru and what am I supposed to do, let him? He's becoming harder and harder to tolerant the older he gets." His uncles harsh voice bellowed from behind the door as he rambled incoherently and crazed, his mouth seemed to spill whatever came to mind with little thought for those around him, he'd never had his uncle act in this way and it frightened him, sure he'd made him angry before but never to the extent that he'd say such hurtful things.

He took a good look at himself in the handheld mirror his Aunt had left on the counter. His eyes were a puffy red mess of smudged dirt and drying tears which plastered to his hollow under eyes making his skin itch incessantly, his undereye bags were as dark as the very night sky. His hair was a mattered, greasy mess which stuck out at random intervals, he reached up a small hand to fiddle with one of the long strands which fell to his shoulder and cringed, it felt stiff—crusty, the gritty feel of it was mostly down to his activities of the day. His scalp itched from the build-up of dead skin cells and grime; his hair was supposed to be a vibrant blonde, yet it was now an ashy light brown.

"He's trying Owen." His aunt's weak protests vibrated against the door.

He needed a shower, he knew that, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it; not out of defiance, nothing he did was ever out of defiance. As shameful as it made him feel it was all down to his bizarre nightmares, so vivid and sadistic in nature they left him thoroughly traumatized and incapable of coping with situations, they made him avoid doing things that would trigger him. His last one had by far been the worst one yet—it was so _vivid? Real? _He was in the shower when it happened, he didn't understand what was happening, he didn't even remember falling asleep—that's what frightened him more than anything, the idea that he could fall asleep and not remember doing it.

He'd been teleported to a horrific place; he didn't entirely know where he was but the ground beneath his bare feet was blackened and gritty—almost like the sand of his home world, it scorched and blistered his flesh as he walked; all around him stood mountains of red hot fire, orange, yellow and black in nature, surrounding him lay rivers of pure- _fire?_ He'd never seen anything quite like it, wasn't even entirely certain rivers could be made of fire, but they hissed and spat at him in warning. Blistering hot steam escaped every crevice and crack in the rocks screeching and hissing so loud it rattled his eardrums. The steam created an ominous red hue which rendered his visibility near zero, the heat of this strange place was a hundred times more intense than Tatooine, it clung to his skin and penetrated deep down into his bones, setting them alight with a painful ache. The sky was as black—if not blacker than the scorching ground beneath his feet. In the distance—a red orb of fire peaked out of the sky through blankets of darkness, taunting the ground with even more unbearable heat.

Then suddenly he was pushed back with such a force so powerful it rattled his bones and left his nude form firmly pressed against the blackened ground beneath him. He heard screaming—a sound so terrible it rendered him incapable of moving, frozen with terror as a thousand thoughts swam through his head on ways to silence such a horrific sound—it was only when he focused did he realise it was himself.

Pain engulfed his body, a pain he'd never felt before penetrated deep under his skin and down to his bones, each nerve ending was suddenly overstimulated with an unholy red-hot pain which zapped and vibrated through his blood and bones. No matter how hard to rolled around on the ground it only seemed to spread, he was on fire! The flames licked and tore into his bare flesh, incinerating and searing flesh from the bone in seconds. He looked down and realised that his legs were missing! He screeched in horror-the horrific stench of congealed fat and pulverized flesh assaulted his nostrils and burnt a pathway to his brain, turning it to mush, he was almost certain it'd start leaking from his nostrils any second now.

His eyes watered and blistered, and the pure agony seemed to never end, every pulse of the sonic shower felt like acid, dissolving into his very bones and burning into his flesh and leaving him a screeching mess, vulnerable and completely alone in his pain. He'd awoken on the refresher floor a towel around his shaking form, his throat was raw from screaming and his Aunt was by his side, her face wet with tears, utterly traumatized and incapable of coherent sentences he'd crawled into his Aunt arms and cried.

He couldn't bring himself to shower after that, utterly petrified of experiencing the same horrific nightmare again, what if he never woke up? What if it happened again? What if his aunt wasn't there to wake him up from it? They were all terrible conclusions he'd rather not have floating around his head right now.

"Do not shout at me." His guardians bickering broke him out of his dangerous thought pattern, he once again turned to the mirror in a desperate attempt to block it out.

"Look at him! He's a mess—he stinks! When was the last time he showered? Have you even noticed?" His uncle shouted

He was embarrassed about the whole situation, he knew it was silly to avoid his hygiene but they weren't there, they didn't feel what he felt—didn't see what he saw, they'd never understand; especially his uncle, he thought he was attention seeking, being rebellious, deliberately doing everything he could to make his Uncles life harder, he really wasn't—it wasn't his fault, he didn't know what was wrong with him and now everyone was arguing because of him. Add that to the growing list of his family's disappointment in him. It was becoming a long list.

"Of course, I've noticed! don't pin this all on me! He's your responsibility too!" His aunt shouted back; he could hear the frustration in her voice—the _hopelessness. _

Was life always this difficult at twelve or was it just his life? Did everyone else suffer nightmares as bad as he did? He couldn't quite remember ever _not _experiencing them—wasn't sure what had triggered them in the first place or why they were always so terrible, why his chest seemed to be filled with an intense feeling of dread that clawed at his rib cage—clenching his lungs in an iron fist leaving him incapable of taking in a full breath. Or how every cell in his body seemed to scream at him to calm down and break out of this horrific ordeal—his blood would tingle and burn in warning but he could never seem to stop it from happening, it always overwhelmed him and brought his consciousness to a place he didn't know—_didn't _want to be.

"what do you want me to do?" his aunt cried, her sobs made him flinch, made him feel guilty for putting them through all this turmoil, making things difficult for them constantly—Yet he couldn't bring himself to say sorry when it wasn't really his fault, why should he? They never apologised for making him cry.

"Tell him to get off his ass and take a shower, it's not the difficult!" His uncles voice bellowed back relentlessly.

"He's struggling Owen!" She cried.

"He already thinks he can drink and drive stop cuddling him! Back me up for once." His uncle scolded, each word was laced with a hiss of pent up animosity, he wondered why his uncle kept him around for this long if he loathed his presence this much.

"I _always _back you up!" she shouted back, she was hurt by what he'd said, he could feel it—she had a right to be, it was his fault after all, they wouldn't be screaming at each other if he'd just ignored that voice in his head that _craved _adventure and fun, he bit his lip and listened.

* * *

"No, you do not! It's your fault, you smothered him and held his hand all his life! the boy's never known suffering or hardship, he is arrogant!" His voice was a foreboding hiss as it lectured, he was aware that the boy could most likely hear them arguing—he was past caring today; he needed to learn respect and self-control, it was within his best interests to learn very _fast_ and he'd make sure that he learnt his lesson and crushed any other thoughts of rebellion from his young mind before he got himself and others killed. He would soon learn who was in charge here.

"He is a _child!" _she hissed back her eyes stung and her head throbbed from stress, he'd placed her in a difficult situation, she either sided with her husband—the man she married or by her nephew who's unusual powers petrified her, his lack of control and understanding made him _very _dangerous, she'd thought she could help him grow out of it but the truth of the matter was that the boy was cursed—cursed with the same horrific powers that destroyed his father, turning him into a cold and calculating tyrant who's unstable temperament made him into the most dangerous of monsters—and her Luke shared half his genetic code with such a _creature_.

It was the price to pay for ignorance and optimism she supposed—a cold irony that ate away at her very sanity as the _seconds_ ticked by, leaving behind a forever present feeling of foreboding and sorrow—sorrow at the monster he would become and melancholic over the fact that she could do nothing to stop it—_nothing _to help him. She'd been arrogant in believing that by giving the boy a good childhood she could somehow negate the horrific premonitions of a future most certainly paved out in tragedy and suffering. She should have listened to Owen—she should have turned the boy away the second she laid her eyes on him, let Obi Wan take the boy and corrupt him beyond repair, so long as she never saw it. If only she'd looked away, if only she hadn't stared at those mesmerising blue orbs, a perfect replica of his fathers.

Those expressive blue eyes, so vulnerable…

"A _child_ who you allow to walk around and do as he pleases, and it shows!" he viciously snapped, breaking her from her melancholic thought process. Conflicted and lost she cried with frustration, she felt no other way to make it better, why must she side with one over the other? Why couldn't they all get along and support each other, why must she constantly be stuck in the middle of it all? She was tired of it.

"Well what do you want me to do!" she cried out in frustration, her cracked fingernails dug into her scalp, causing a painful sting to develop, she was almost certain that she'd drawn blood.

He pointed a chubby finger at her "Go in there and discipline him or I will!" He snapped back, pointing a calloused finger towards the fresher door.

Her jaw tensed, the veins on her aged neck popped out and threatened to rupture from the pressure "Oh, and you think I haven't already tried?" she hissed back with a fierce tenacity, her hurt and disbelief clouded every syllable. Parenting wasn't a one-person job; it was downright _insulting _of him to even go as far to assume so.

Her husband flinched back and glared "Well then try harder!" He shouted back, his composer all but broken and any thoughts she had of reasoning with him had died along with it, she knew her husband better than anyone else in the galaxy—only she knew how stubborn and unlikable he could be at times, only she knew how to end this before it got physical.

"Why must you make it so difficult for him?"

"I feel as though I'm the only one looking out for him, you cannot continue to shelter him his entire life Beru! He needs to take responsibility—needs to learn that his actions have consequences, I yell at him because I care for his wellbeing, I will not allow him to go around mindlessly putting himself in danger because you're too afraid to discipline him!" he yelled.

She knew he was right, but her pride just refused to allow herself to admit it. She had become soft over the years, let him get away with far too much, she needed to admit when she was wrong—if only she'd have put her foot down sooner, then perhaps they wouldn't be having this argument.

She glared back for a moment, allowing a deathly silence to fall between them, if she hadn't had known her husband as well as she did it would've unnerved her, but she knew that they both needed to calm down and analyse the situation, yet she couldn't help her frustration from reaching a breaking point, she was tired and she was over everything. Luke and Owen included. She was hurt and disappointed within herself for allowing Owen and Luke to get under her skin so much that she allowed herself to scoop so low as to argue and become the very parent she promised she wouldn't become—she was angry at Luke for constantly being so reckless and disobedient, if he cared only a little for how this situation made her feel then he wouldn't constantly find himself doing it, he didn't truly understand the difficult situation he put her in and she hated it. She was furious at Owen for taking out his frustrations on her and daring to even talk to her Luke in the way he'd spoken—yet none of it seemed to matter anymore.

Her nostrils flared as she seethed "Fine! Whatever—you're in charge I'll just sit back and see how far your wonderful parenting gets us!" she hissed back, she no longer cared for the outcome of this day, it was late and if it continued she knew they'd be arguing all night. She was at a loss on how to make the situation better and clearly all her years of parenting hadn't worked, she was over doing this all on her own—not when it constantly got her nowhere.

Exhausted and numb she'd allowed herself to go through with whatever plans her husband had, her brain had all but turned to a curdle and her eyes ached with stress and fatigue.

"Get up boy!" She jumped up as the refresher door slammed loudly against the wall, she ran obediently to her husband's side, his large frame towered over the fatigued filthy form of her nephew, his hand grasp his frail arm tightly—bending tendons and dragging him forward with an unnatural velocity; his small feet scrapped painfully against the floor as he was dragged.

* * *

An intense feeling of dread vibrated through his body and settled in his stomach. Every cell in his body seemed to scream at him that they'd be trouble coming and for him to find a way out of it, his stomach seemed to do kata's as his stagnant stomach bile flooded upwards—he gagged it down as the familiar bitter taste assaulted his taste buds, he felt _unsettled?_ And he couldn't understand why, he'd thought they'd decided to call it a night with their bickering—if only. But he knew better than anyone else that his Uncle always liked to have the last word.

Large hands firmly grasp his shoulders, his smaller form was dragged, and his feet scrapped painfully against the gritty stone floor. Blue orbs stared into brown-terror plastered over every crease in his face as he was held firmly by his uncle's large hands, he frowned

"Let me go!" He cried, thrashing around in his uncle's towering form, his hands tightened painfully against his upper arms—_constricting _the blood flow to his hands; causing a painful fiery ache to develop in his fatigued limbs. Blotches of cold develop on his constricted hands as they numbed and tingled— it hurt, he didn't like this, _didn't _understand this, what had he done to upset him now?

"Be still!" His uncle's voice bellowed into his ear, rattling his ear drums and causing his heartbeat to soar to dangerous levels. He struggled and huffed against the large frame, his thoughts were a jumbled mess of conflicted emotions and incoherent thoughts— he was tired, and _empty? _Emotionally compromised and thoroughly out of his depths mentally, no matter what he said he couldn't fix this, he had to rely on his uncle now. More than ever it was up to him to make this better—_him _to end this fight, he was the strong one, he was only small and fragile he couldn't continue to fight against someone so emotionally stoic, not right now at least.

"You're self-neglecting." He mumbled, his brown eyes burrowed into his shaking form—analysing his every tremor and movement for weakness—_answers. _He wasn't naive, he knew what was going on, as furious and upset as he was at his uncle his empathetic complex always turned around and made him feel guilty; as if he needed to— _he_ started this the second he opened his mouth and spoke such toxic _lies_ about his father.

_He murdered millions…_

he shuddered; a cold shiver crept down his spine— it gently caressed a trail from his neck to his tailbone. As unsettling as it was, it weirdly helped him to calm down and forget how afraid he was right now.

"I am not!" He spat out in protest, what did he ever know about anything? All he ever taught him so far was to mindlessly obey your superiors regardless of how wrong they were— what sort of a lesson was that to be teaching him? Obey anyone older than you because they're right and you're small. He snorted adults were so bitter and weird, He was almost thankful that it'd be another decade before he became one.

He groaned in frustration, nothing was ever fair, never went the way he'd hoped it would.

"I worry about you boy, do you know that?" he snorted, as if. The very way in which he'd spoken had shook him down to his very core, it was _kind—concerned? _So very unlike the mad man who'd been screaming insane slanders at him and manhandling him, he couldn't understand whether or not it was an act, just the very idea that his uncle would for once calm down enough to care about the way he felt, hit him harder than any harsh word or half-truth. He didn't understand—_didn't _want to understand why such an act of sincerity seemed to induce such an intense feeling of shame within him, why such a change in his uncle's psyche unnerved him to his very bones.

His Uncle knelt down in front of him and enveloped his small form into his arms, he flinched back in shock—the warmth of such an embrace suffocated him both physically and emotionally, stomach bile bubbled and turned to acid in his throat, he looked to his Aunt who stood frozen in the doorway—even she seemed to be at a total loss of words to explain such a drastic change in his uncles moral framework.

"I-I don't understand I-" he stammered over his words, his small frame shook erratically.

"Shhh, quiet yourself my boy, you're very sick." He rumbled, stroking gentle circular patterns into his back and shoulders. He froze up in the embrace, every caress felt like tiny ants crawling all over his flesh. His uncles rambling was beginning to severely frighten him now, he wasn't entirely sure whether he was the sick one here, he felt sick, but Biggs had told him it was the alcohols fault, he'd never done it before—how was he supposed it know it'd make him sick? It was an accident.

"I'm not sick." He whispered into his uncles' shoulder, his large frame overwhelmed him—_smothered _him, but in a way it comforted him, made him feel a certain type of parental comfort he'd never felt before, it wasn't right—_didn't _feel right, it felt alien to him. He got hugs from Aunt Beru all the time but never from Uncle Owen, his uncle was strict, disciplined him with mindless chores and dreary speeches—lectures; never in his life had he ever comforted him, it was always the opposite, always reprimanded for crying and desensitized from his own feelings, shamed for his naivety—for _being _himself. It always seemed that there was a wedge between them which prevented his uncle from ever liking him—_caring _for him, but now he was _hugging_ _him_ telling him he—he _cared?_

"I'll make you better my boy, I'll cure you." He mumbled, stroking his back gently.

A sudden wave of sadness overwhelmed him; he choked on a breath which verged on becoming a sob. His eyes stung and throbbed and his chest hurt, an uncomfortable ache seemed to form a fist, clenching his heart and holding his tenacity and will captive. His small hands pooled around his uncles' neck—leaning into the comfort and allowing himself to cry. Cure him? Was he really that sick? He never usually felt sick, he often felt unusual—_different _to others and he didn't understand why, was this why? Was he sick because he was unusual? He didn't understand, it was all too overwhelming.

"I-I'm sorry!" he cried, his tears wet the fabric of his uncle's shirt, the scratchy fabric itched against his sticky skin. Violent sobs shook his vulnerable form, his uncle's large arms moved him to sit in his lap. If he were feeling himself, he would've been embarrassed by such a display of weakness.

His uncles mumbled something to his aunt, but his fuzzy and worn out state didn't allow himself to process the words, he felt slow. His mind lagged like a faulty protocol droid. Suddenly he was lifted, strong arms held onto his form firmly—his legs were captured in a vice like grip making it near impossible for him to get out—even if he wanted to he wouldn't, he was too content like this, he'd deal with the consequences in the morning, the _humiliation. _

Firm hands grabbed the fastenings around his white tunic—releasing them and allowing the coarse, thick fabric to pool onto the refresher floor. "Wha—what?" he struggled in the firm arms that held him.

"Be still boy, let me help you." He whispered into his ear, a calming rush of harmonious and familiar syllables which calmed and comforted the raging storm of pain and confusion within him.

"No." he pushed his palms flat against the firm chest of his uncle.

Calloused hands grasp his clothes ripping them violently from his body, he shivered as his nude form was assaulted by a sudden gust of cold air—Goosebumps littered his filthy skin and anxiety which had laid dormant for a little while, rose up and filled him with a sense of utter distress and terror.

"W-what are you doing?" he hiccupped

"You're filthy boy, let us help you."

He frowned "I-I don't need help." He protested

The pulse of the sonic shower hummed ominously—his uncle grabbed his frail wrists tightly, pulling his small form—inching it closer towards the sonic shower, his feet dung and firmly rooted themselves of the ground in protest. He didn't want to do this; he wasn't ready to face his fear right now. He wasn't well, he needed to sleep this day off, he promised to shower first thing in the morning, but they continued to drag him. His uncle had tricked him—placed him under a false sense of security before imposing his will, he was as bad as the emperor!

"No!" he shouted, clasping his hands tightly against the entrance to the shower.

His uncle _wrenched_ his left arm free from the entrance, pushing him inside the metal sarcophagus—he captured his arm painfully behind his back and held him there for a minute as he thrashed and hyperventilated. He had been tricked, his own fragile state used against him, they _weren't _helping him, they were punishing him—_punishing _him for every wrongdoing he'd ever committed against them, every—_accident? Mistake? _He should've known better, should've followed his feelings when it felt wrong, his uncle never cared about him enough to comfort him and in a way neither did aunt Beru for allowing him to exploit him and use his feelings against him like this. "Stop struggling!" his uncle hissed.

His aunt touched his bare shoulder—he recoiled away as if the very touch was a molten acid, burning into his flesh. "Luke, calm down please!" she pleaded. "Let us help you!"

He choked against the shower wall; he couldn't breathe he felt sick! Every inhalation was filled with the nauseating smell of the metallic walls—which only stood to irritate his already pounding migraine "You're hurting my arm!" he hissed back, his arm was bent in an excruciating position behind his back, the bones ached and contorted painfully, but his uncles grip did not relent.

"Quit being difficult and let me help you!" his uncle snapped back, all previous kindness and affection had been immediately revoked—held _captive, _as he exposed his will.

His eyes stung with a fresh wave of salty tears, the already sore and inflamed tear ducts protested profusely "Stop it! My arm doesn't bend that way!" he shouted back.

He gasped and cried out when the joints in his arm gave up and popped out painfully, the pain was excruciating, fire travelled from his elbow to the shoulder, tears bucketed down his face as he was gently deposited onto the floor and the shower turned on. His skin vibrated as and tingled as the sonic waves pulsed against his filthy flesh. He tried to move his arm, but every movement sent an uncomfortable stab of pain down the left side of his body. Was his arm broken? He hurt so much, uncle had never hurt him physically before—the very realisation of what had happened terrified and hurt him deeply, aunt Beru had let him, he couldn't piece together anything of what had happened in his foggy state.

"Luke…" his aunt touched his injured arm and tried to gently inspect the damage, but he wouldn't let her—_didn't _trust her, he flinched away from her and glared up at his uncle fiercely, his eyes were burning and his blood pulsing with rage.

"I hate you! You bantha fodder! I hate you! I hate you!" he repeatedly cried, a cataclysm of vindictive slurs rolled out of his brain and of his tongue like poison—his ability to comprehend rationality was all but gone, replaced with a toxic fury which boiled and scolded his flesh from the inside out.—his temper was the purest form of fire, screeching and scratching at his psyche like a ravenous rancor—_starving _for revenge and a way to numb this horrible pain his felt whenever he focused on his guardians betrayal.

"_I hate you!" his voice screeched with such a fierce hatred it turned his thoughts to acid in his mind, a tenacious omen uttered from the lips of a monster who's blood pulsed and boiled in his arteries—each word was spat out in a curse of fire and betrayal, his very heart hardened and turned to the thickest of durasteel in his chest. He choked on each syllable as if he couldn't truly believe he was the monster saying them._

_Where was he? Who was he? _

_He opened his eyes and found himself thrust back into the same nightmare he'd tried so desperately to avoid. His blood froze in his arteries and panic formed a fist, constricting and crushing his lungs painfully against his rib cage. He was back, oh stars he was back._

_The black sand scorched his sensitive flesh to a crisp, the stubs that once house his arms and legs tingled excruciating—cauterizing and coagulating to a close. The only thing that made his suffering bearable was the pure unadulterated hatred which swam through every cell in his body, fuelling a vicious cycle of pain and fury…fury who was he furious at? _

"_My brother, I loved you!" The voiced cried out, it sounded so far away yet so very close, he flinched each word was laced with an extreme feeling of despair and betrayal, as if the very person he'd loved had died—was replaced by someone he hardly knew, a monster, one which wished nothing more than to switch positions with him and dance upon the cold dead corpse of his misguided faith and love in him, weak fool. _

_Wait brother?_

_He screeched, his eyes boiled and blistered in his eye sockets—budging out with pressure as the stubs of his legs suddenly caught fire, licking a trail of white-hot heat up his legs and too his torso—it pulverized flesh and muscles turning them to red hot ash. Each intake of toxic gas and ash blistered his oesophagus and scorched his lungs—converting oxygen to boiling hot magma in his chest. Every inch of his body was subjected to an unbearable torture he couldn't end—his only option was to lie their and allow his body to cook alive and his vocal cords to disintegrate as he screamed and howled in pure agony, forced to endure the stench of his own flesh cooking and the fats in his body congealing to create a truly awful stench which was bound to haunt him for to rest of his life. _

"_Luke!" _

_He was truly alone, alone in the agony he'd created for himself—he deserved this; this was who he was now._

"_Luke!"_

_Everyone would pay, every Jedi would fall by his hand, he'd never love again—love was for weak fools who deserved destroying,_

"_LUKE!"_

_Everyone would suffer until they felt his pain, felt his agony…and he would show no mercy, no one ever truly deserved mercy. _

_The terrible rhythmic hiss of a respirator rattled against his skull and chilled his scorched flesh to the bone. _

"LUKE!"

Suddenly everything went white, his nerve ending all flared up and tingled—a bolt of electricity ran down from his retinas to the tips of his toes, he didn't understand what was happening, where he was—all he knew was that the agonizing feeling of slowly cooking alive had dulled to a low ache. His hands tingled as the electric tingle gathered around his hands and released—shooting out a maelstrom energy which sent him flying back against the sonic walls—his surroundings jumbled, and his head throbbed upon impact. it utterly baffled and terrified him, this feeling of pure release was utterly terrifying and eutrophic— as if every buried emotion and traumatic memory had collided in an epic attempt to thrust him violently from the horrific nightmare, he'd found himself in.

He felt _strange, _gone was the boiling rage and bone deep agony—replaced with a supernatural woozy feeling which rapidly rotated his body fluids and made him retch and gag. His body wasn't entirely his own anymore, he knew only that much at least, everything felt more _intense? _As if he could feel every single hair on his body jive and the cells in his very blood tingle. What was this weird feeling? Was it the alcohol? He didn't understand and the longer he thought on it the more erratic his thought process became. Why wasn't his Aunt and uncle helping him?

His eyes shot open and gone was the white void, crazed blue orbs settled on the crumpled bodies of his guardians—piles of bone and flesh lay crumpled against the refresher walls. He retched back a sob; his shaky pale hand moved to cover his mouth as he cried—had he done that? Had he killed them? A billion erratic thoughts raced through his head and a billion more conflicted emotions responded back— taunting him—_breaking _him, how had he done that?

He shakily got to his feet and groaned as his surroundings spun and his eyes sharpened, he pressed a shaky hand to his guardians necks—feeling for a pulse, _anything _to just give him a sign, a sign that he hadn't just killed them—_murdered them_; tears once again raced down his cheeks and his already swollen and red eyes protested profusely. How could he ever be okay again? He didn't mean to cause them harm—to _kill _them, he just couldn't control this power this _feeling _in his soul which screamed at him to make them feel as horrible as he felt, it controlled him and caused him to do things without him having any control over it. What was he?—why was he so _twisted? _

_Murdered millions…_

Dread and foreshadowing bubbled in his stomach-He was becoming like _him_, the man he'd idolized his short twelve years—he was becoming a _monster, _maybe his uncle _hadn't _lied to him, maybe what he told him was _true? _and if that was the case then he'd acted erratically for no reason, lashed out in a pattern of horrific violence—but why? He'd never hurt them so badly before; sure, they'd gotten into arguments, but he'd never deliberately caused them harm to make himself feel better—what was wrong with him? He was becoming like his father and it terrified and confused him… He was conflicted he'd always wanted to be like his father—the headstrong pilot, but now to learn that he was a mass murderer and his Aunt and Uncle had taken him away from that—_made him safe_, filled him with an immense guilt which ate away at his fragile sanity.

He cried tears of joy when he felt the faint pulsing and thumping against his hands—he hadn't killed him! They were alive! Relief rushed over him like a bucket of water—but it was gone in seconds, he couldn't stay.

A thought that should have overjoyed him now terrified him—he couldn't stay, couldn't hurt them ever again-_didn't_ trust himself not to lash out, as long as he stayed here, he was putting them in danger and proving his uncle right. He needed help, and if he stayed here, he'd never get it.

"I-I'm sorry…" he faintly whispered, his vocal cords were raw and scratchy from screaming and his voice a faint whisper from his growing fatigue.

He departed as quietly as he could, wishing himself one last happy birthday.

* * *

"What is thy bidding, my master." He bowed, he durasteel joints seized up uncomfortably as he was made to kneel before his master for such a long period of time, the only sound was the unnerving rattle of his respirator—a sound which kept him awake at night and installed terror in trillions. But to himself it was the only thing reminding him that he was human—encased in a black sarcophagus of scarred necrotic flesh and faulty prosthetic limbs it was easier to forget who he'd used to be and the fact that he was still—semi human…

_The Hero with no fear _

It was an ironic title, considering the weak frightened man he used to be.

How trillions had chanted his name in admiration and thousands of women had flocked to his side, offering him petty gifts in exchange for his company—a chance to bed the poster boy of the clone wars—_pathetic weak fool_, he hissed, his alter ego was no hero, he was a weak minded child who had sacrificed _everything _for the flesh, love and warmth of the woman he'd loved, allowed lust to cloud his mind and corrupt him into doing everything he could to save her, The Hero was _fragile—_so full of fear and human desires that he'd allowed it to cloud his judgement—so he _destroyed him_ gone was the weak minded fool who'd occupied his time with melancholy and indecision—now replaced by who he _should have _been, a cold and calculating warrior who's only purpose in life was to serve his master and bring order back to the galaxy.

The Hero was easily manipulated—allowed himself to be indoctrinated and enslaved by the treacherous _jedi, _and every single one of them had paid for that mistake with their lives, and those of their children. He was stronger now because of the pain, love was for those who lacked the maturity to deny it—_snuff _it out, love never got you anywhere but encased in a life support suite of your own doing, _she'd _betrayed him—chose his best friend over him, abandoned him and their unborn child—_his perfect little bundle, dead._

Love was the very definition of insanity, no matter how hard you worshipped someone, gave them _everything_, they'll never end up loving you as equally—and yet he couldn't stop needing _her—couldn't stop desiring her. _

He hardened his heart and buried those feeling deep down—they were memories of a dead man; he was Darth Vader and a Darth had no such place for such petty displays of affection and reflection.

"I sense a great _disturbance_ in the force, Lord Vader." He muttered, his aged vocal cords let out a sinister crackle, the blue hologram flickered ominously above him.

"I have not felt it." He replied, the harsh baritone of his voice modulator displayed a fierce sharp bellow which gave of the impression of a fierce authoritarian aura—only his master truly knew the man behind that fierce baritone, and he preferred it that way, it made people fear him and that was the way he wanted it to be.

"You are _troubled _my friend." He inquired. He looked up through artificial red lenses at the towering form of his master, who's aged and scarred pale face was twisted into a sinister smirk—his corrupted yellow eyes burrowed into his mechanical form, analysing his every thought through the claustrophobic coffin which surrounded him, looking for a weakness to exploit—a _reason _to punish him. The colour of his eyes were a deep amber, which carefully guarded an ever going bubbling rage, almost like lava they boiled and taunted him. _Lava_

_I hate you!_ He quickly snapped out of the hypnotic gaze, shifting his focus elsewhere and burying his trauma deep down, he had no place for such weaknesses.

"I am fine." He replied.

The amber eyes stared at him for a little while longer before his master clicked his tongue, the sounded rattled around inside the confines of his black helmet. "Very well, there is a traitor amongst us." He stated.

"I deal with Bail Organa immediately, my master." He gruffly got out and attempted to make his leave.

With the swift raise of his masters pale deformed hand he stopped. "He is of no concern to me, Lord Vader, his duplicity will be his own undoing." Bail Organa was coward, he claimed to stay neutral, do whatever he needed to do to keep Alderaan prosperous, but lately he'd been meddling to far into imperial affairs—sending supplies and weapons to the growing rebellion, he was no fool he knew of Organa's treachery—he longed to snuff out that growing flame of rebellion and teach Organa what _really _happens to those who defy the emperor and stick their interests where they were not allowed. Organa and his daughter—Leia, were gaining to much political clout in the senate and were becoming arrogant, Organa and the princess will get their comeuppance in time.

"I sense a greater threat to our empire, my old friend."

"Any threat will be immediately terminated, master." He replied

His master let out a cackle "And yet the _jedi _remain a threat, why is this Lord Vader?" he sneered, his rotten teeth poked out from under his gums.

His rage boiled slightly before he held it back "The Jedi are illusive master, but I will not fail." He replied.

"I wonder." He taunted "The rebellion grows stronger and their arrogance has blinded them, I have foreseen multiple jedi to be hiding amongst them." He replied, the hologram flickered in annoyance.

He froze "Are you certain?" he asked.

"Deceit is not a revelation, Lord Vader." He sneered; his towering form flickered in warning.

"You will go to Raxus Prime. There you will find _multiple _jedi traitors hiding—_terminate _them immediately, leave no survivors and do not hesitate. Once you have terminated the surviving jedi and their younglings travel to Tatooine and await my orders." He commanded with the flick of a hand.

He bowed "As you wish, my master."

"The Rebellion must _not_ gain Jedi allies." He pressed; a sense of urgency tinged his aged vocal cords.

"I understand." He replied, the hologram flickering to a close.

* * *

Sorry for the wait, I've been a busy bee. Please do tell me what you thought of this, I do very much enjoy your feedback!

Angst over my friends! Well, for now. Owen Lars is a strange character for me, in the original trilogy he always comes across as quite cold and distant, I've never imagined him as one to physically abuse Luke but I have no doubt in my mind that he most definitely emotionally abused him and played a lot of mind games.

* * *

Saturday 14th March 2020


	4. Chapter Three

Me and my bipolar wrote this one together. 3

I own nothing

Thank you too Mj Mink for helping with grammar :)

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**The Gift Of Pain**

* * *

Scarred eyes focused carefully on the monitor in front of him— his usually masked face was free of the claustrophobic helmet which encased him. It was times like these inside his hyperbaric chamber where he was allowed relaxation and solitude. His scarred lungs were unable to breathe without his mask, but inside the highly oxygenated decompression chamber he was allowed to rid himself of the mask and do what others took for granted. He could eat— not like he'd ever want too, his suite provided him with all the basic necessities he needed to stay alive— through intravenous injections and supplements, it was easy to forget he was human.

_Human? _It was such an alien concept to him now— for so long he'd thrown away basic human needs, believing himself not worthy of such luxuries— not able to ever feel the touch of warm flesh again— the faulty receptors in his prosthetic limbs made feeling anything near impossible. The reconstructive team had truly failed him in that regard. The incessant rasp of his own breathing made it near impossible for him to get a night's sleep let alone rest, never allowed him a moment of silent contemplation; and when he did managed for even a— _second _to close his eyes, it was a horrific hellscape of jumbled images and sounds, another life. A life where an infant could be heard screeching in a toxic wasteland of scorching lava and profound sorrow—a world where its mother lay an asphyxiated heap on the ground and its father a seething _monster _whose wife had just betrayed him and their child for his so called _best friend._

His _wife_…

"_Ani." She whispered, she rolled over and gently caressed his bare chest._

"…_what?..." he rubbed his tired eyes._

"_Ani the babies moving!" She grabbed his non prosthetic hand and placed it upon her swollen belly._

_He gasped as the flesh of her belly moved firmly against his hand. "Wow…" he whispered, astonished. Their baby was strong, he could feel it—a sense of pride threatened to overwhelm him, his blue orbs remained transfixed on her swollen belly. They'd created that—they'd created this wonderful life which lay incubated and protected by its mother's womb, their love and passion had created this wonderful gift which caressed the palm of this hand—his baby knew its father, somehow it knew, and he couldn't wait to meet their little bundle._

_He reached up to kiss her lips and trailed towards her ear. "I can't wait to meet our baby. I have no doubt they'll be as perfect as you ,my angel," He whispered into her ear before placing a kiss just below it._

_She blushed; her gorgeous pale complexion glowed from the effects of pregnancy, she looked-breath-taking—her brown hair curled gently against her back and the loose gray nightgown she wore emphasised the growing swollen lump where their child grew._

_She timidly kissed him back, her lips remained on his for a moment before they parted, her perfect brown orbs stared into his blue ones. "I love you so much, Ani." She placed her hand over his hand, as if to hold their unborn child._

_He pressed his head against her. "As do I, more than there are stars in this galaxy," he murmured back._

The rasp of his respirator increased in volume, his eyes shut tightly as he buried that memory, deep, deep down. He was _weak _back then, a weak fool—he'd allowed his love for _her _to cloud his judgement—_destroy him_. But her loss had given him a gift—_pain _and that pain had made him stronger, no longer was he so easily manipulated, she was _dead— _he'd destroyed the man he'd used to be and her along with him. She'd lied and he wouldn't allow himself to cry over her—wasn't even entirely sure that he could anymore, wasn't sure if he still had tear ducts or if they'd been removed in the horrific surgery to rebuild him from the broken man he'd used to be.

All he knew was that he hadn't cried in twelve years…

Even in his hyperbaric chamber— the only place where he could be rid of that heavy suit and incessant breathing which ate away at his sanity one rasp at a time-he was consistently tormented by the memories of a dead man— _Skywalker. _The very name was like acid in his mouth, scorching and blistering his already scarred and horrific flesh, a constant word which nagged at his psyche and only served to infuriate him. The Only way he could cease the constant torment was to bury _him _deep down and _destroy _him, denying himself any such pleasures which reminded him of the weak fool he'd used to be.

_Kenobi!H_e had no such words to explain _him, _the man who stole his wife from him, _claimed _to love him, _claimed _to be his brother, _claimed _to want to save him, had cut off his remaining limbs and left him for _dead, _watched as he slowly cooked alive in a maelstrom of his own _agony, _screeching profanities and howling as flesh pulverised from his form— he'd _stolen _his lightsabre, _Stolen _his wife—no— not his, _Skywalker's. _

His hand clenched in fury and his breathing quickened. The supports of his hyperbaric chamber protested such a ruthless display of force, and unclenched his fists. He would _find him, _for _twelve years _he'd tormented him, served as a catalyst for his instability— he'd never once slept in twelve years, _Kenobi _was always on his mind, how to _slaughter _the man who'd claimed to love you and then left you for dead? He had a growing list of possibilities—_scenarios _in which his former master would be shrieking and begging for him to kill him. He'd thought about setting him on fire, making him feel the agony he'd left him in; the list was getting quite long.

He reached for the controls to his chamber. A large claw-like machine came down from the top, placing his helmet securely back into place, and he watched through artificial red lenses as the chamber opened. He punched in a quick code and watched as the screen in front of him came to life. A small humanoid with a cyborg databank implant appeared, its body and mind sacrificed for science.

"_Greetings, Lord Vader. Shall I proceed with today's report?"_

"Proceed." He replied with the flicker of a hand, the unusually chirpy voice of the droid nagging at his fragile patience.

"_Inputted planet 60512 subject = Raxus Prime also known as Raxus or Raxus minor according to my databanks currently resides in the Outer Rim Territories, System = Raxus System—Sector = Tion Hegemony- Current population = unknown, inhabitants vary from Human to a multitude of different species, no current native species has been identified. Current dialects identified = Galactic Basic + Jawa Trade Language."_

_BEEEP_

"_Accessing planetary diagnostic for subject 60512, Current suns = 1—Moons = 0—Rotation period = 22 standard hours—orbital period = 388 local days"_

_BEEEP_

"_Accessing Planetary physiological diagnostic for subject 60512. Class = Terrestrial—Diameter = 9.330 Kilometres—Atmosphere = Type 1 breathable planet, though multiple methane gases have been identified, Climate = Temperate and Poisonous—Gravity = 1.2 standard."_

_BEEEP_

"_According to my databanks Raxus Prime's primary function is that of a junk planet, highly polluted, its toxic waste pools have highly corrosive properties. No known Jedi activity has been reported on Raxus Prime."_

_BEEP_

"_Accessing the Imperial database of wanted Jedi."_

_BEEEP_

"_Here is a list of currently known Jedi presumed to be alive."_

His eyes throbbed as the monitor's artificial light created an irritating glare on the poorly designed red lenses of his mask. It was a long list of over 50 names—50 potential threats to his masters empire, but fortunately 50 arrogant fools whose power was no match when compared to that of the dark side. They'd challenge him— he was no fool, they all did but in the end they all learnt that he couldn't be destroyed, couldn't _be _defeated, couldn't be challenged and couldn't allow them to live.

11350 jedi had already learnt their lesson, but only when faced with the searing end of his blade. Only then did they beg him or an absolution—an end that he was more than willing to offer; driving his saber deep into there still squirming bodies he'd watch in sick satisfaction as the light dimmed from their eyes and the stench of putrified roasting flesh filtered through the breathing apparatus of his mask— a stench that once terrified and repulsed him now reminded him that everything anyone ever held dear was but a forgotten concept— doomed to fail. A smell so horrific it now defined him—made him stronger. Strong enough to petrify fear itself.

His eyes meticulously scanned through every name before handing on one name in particular— one name which stuck out, _one_ name which turned the blood in his veins to scorching acidic lava which clawed at every crevice in his body—_demanding _the right to ravish and destroy; _Kenobi. _He clenched his fists, the rasp of his respirator lagged as it struggled to keep up with the rapid strike of heart against his chest cavity.

"_Kenobi." _He hissed. Spitting the name out of his mouth as if its very existence was the most potent of poisons; turning his saliva to acid in his mouth.

"_Ah, yes, according to my databanks Jedi Master Obi Wan Kenobi was last seen on Coruscant shortly after Operation Knightfall. My databanks contain no more information on his whereabouts after that."_

Items and walls trembled as his full fury threatened to unleash itself in a pattern of horrific violence. They wouldn't know—_couldn't know_, his master had been very thorough in his elimination of all information pertaining to the man he'd used to be, in a way he resented his master for it— resented him for holding him back, withholding his right to revenge from him—lying to him. He remembered the fury, the _pain_\- how within a matter of hours his life was changed for the better. He remembered how his master had shown him his place and how he'd despised him for it, the humiliation of such a dangerous lack of control...

_Items ricocheted off of the walls, droids exploded into nothing but oil and metallic parts, medical fluids splattered onto the floor and up the walls. The horrific sound of his own breathing rattled around in his head as his breathing intensified one rasp away from a frenzy. His scorched and charred lungs ached and throbbed in agony as his respirator forced oxygen into the destroyed and useless tissue. _

"_In your anger, you...killed her." He heard the faint cackle of his master aged vocal cords, whisper fake sincerities into his artificial ears which had melted away under the Mustafar heat. Nothing about him was real anymore. _

_His body still felt sluggish and weak from the horror he'd endured—but in a moment of pure unadulterated rage he tore his arms free from metal cuffs pinning and restraining his body to the operating table. He stumbled upon prosthetic legs, forced into what felt like 800 pound weights tied to each ankle. _

_His heart throbbed and his thoughts scattered, but in all his pain and his suffering he managed to scream—or so he thought, the sound which tore from his vocal cords was a commanding robotic baritone which transformed his wretched heartbroken scream into a single word "no." _

_He turned to blast his master 2 meters into the air and watched as his body crumpled to the ground in a pathetic heap of pale skin and black fabric. _

_He turned to his master in a fury "No! You promised me—you promised me that you could save her!" He roared, the baritone of his voice bellowed and shook nearby objects. It was strange, the voice in his head was a faint whisper, nothing at all like the robotic commanding baritone voice which translated and spoke for him. _

_His master sneered at him, his blackened teeth stuck out demonically past his lips as he rose to his feet. "In your rage you chose...another path." He taunted, raising his hands defensively. _

"_Arg!" He screeched as his already thoroughly scorched body was assaulted by a wave of red hot lightening, which set every cell in his body on fire, his veins and arteries circulated the lightning around every cell and crevice of his body, scorching his already thoroughly ravish form with a fire ten times more intense than the one which had thoroughly traumatised him on Mustafar-he couldn't think, couldn't feel anything at all but the agonising onslaught of molten hot lightning. He felt himself weaken, all he could do is bellow out horrific screams from his already torn and scorched vocal cords. He made the mistake of looking at it and howled as his already destroyed eyes ached against the blue flashing of his masters lightening. _

_Using the force his master summoned his saber from his robes and ignited the blade, pointing the red blade towards his convulsing form he finally ceased his onslaught. _

"_I understand that today has been rather...traumatic for you, but if you ever use the force against me again, I will finish what Kenobi could not." He threatened, pressing the blade to his shoulder and crackling in delight as it burnt through his suit and cooked his already burnt flesh. _

_He was silent_

_He disengaged the blade and sighed "It is not over my friend, her demise has given you a gift...pain—it is up to you whether you accept this gift." He explained_

_He bowed his head in defeat and groveld at his master's feet "I-i need her." He pleaded. _

_His master shot him with another wave of lightning, this time shorter— a warning, yet somehow he couldn't bring himself to react, wasn't sure he could anymore. Had he built up an immunity to pain? he couldn't remember how it felt to not feel pain anymore. _

"_No! Anakin Skywalker needed her, he was weak—you, Lord Vader are a sith. Now do you accept this generous gift and rise as Darth Vader a Lord of the Sith, or will you...die?" His master explained. _

_Anakin Skywalker… that was right, his master was right, he still thought of himself as Anakin Skywalker—but Anakin had failed one too many times, hit the ground too hard. He wasn't Anakin Skywalker anymore, could hardly remember ever being him, ever remember a life where this horrible pain was but a premonition. Anakin Skywalker was weak, a child—blind. And He, Darth Vader, had destroyed him and in it's place risen a being more powerful and terrifying than Anakin Skywalker could ever possibly imagine, and it had been his undoing- Anakin Skywalker lacked an imagination whilst Darth Vader did not. _

_He bowed "I accept, my master." He monotonously replied. _

_His master smirked and grinned in sadistic satisfaction "Good…now let's put his horrible misunderstand behind us,we have an empire to rule." He reached to grab him from the floor. _

"_As you wish, my master." He replied _

He reached into a poached attached to his utility belt at the waist and retrieved a data chip.

"Decode this." He commanded, placing the chip into the monitor.

"_Very well, Lord Vader. Running decoding diagnostic."_

BEEP

"_According to the chip provided, the decoding provides a list of Jedi the Emperor suspects to be hiding out on Raxus Prime. Do you wish to see this information?"_

_He waved his hand _"Proceed."

"_Very well Lord Vader here is the list."_

_Subject = Jedi Master Coleman Kcaj  
Subject = Jedi Master Taron Malicos  
Subject = Jedi Master Oppo Rancisis  
Subject = Jedi Knight Cere Junda  
Subject = Padawan Learner Cal Kestis  
Subject = Padawan Learner Katooni  
Subject = Padawan Learner Jin-Lo Rayce  
Subject = Jedi Initiate Kajin Savaros  
Subject = Jedi Initiate Genel  
Subject = Jedi Initiate Jiro  
Subject = Jedi Initiate Nable  
Subject = Jedi Initiate Onkya  
Subject = Jedi Initiate Kennan Taanzer  
Subject = Jedi Initiate Seddwia  
Subject = Jedi Initiate Sidirri  
Subject = Jedi Initiate Ashla _

"Tell me everything you know about them."

"_Very well,Lord Vader, looking into my databank."_

_BEEEP_

"_According to my Databank, Jedi Master Coleman Kcaj was a member of the Jedi High Council; he is of the Ongree species. His last known whereabouts remain unknown since the formation of the Empire; it appears he is extremely well at remaining undetected."_

_BEEEEP_

"_According to my Databank Jedi Master Taron Malicos' last known whereabouts was in the Dathomir System; extensive planetary searches of Dathomir have been orchestrated in the past but have yielded no results."_

_BEEEP_

"_According to my Databank Jedi Master Oppo Rancisis was the apprentice of Jedi Master Yaddle and a member of the Jedi High Council and his species is Thisspias. His last known whereabouts remain unknown, he has not been sighted again since the formation of the Empire."_

_BEEEP_

"_According to my Databank Jedi Knight Cere Junda was the Apprentice of Jedi Master Eno Cordova. She and her Padawan Learner Trilla Suduri were placed into imperial custody on the Fortress Inquisitorious on the moon Nur approximately 8 standard years ago. Cere's Last known whereabout were on Bracca where Second Sister reported she left with Padawan Learner Cal Kestis."_

_BEEEP_

"_According to my Databank Padawan Learner Cal Kestis was the apprentice of Jedi Master Jaro Tapal. He has long been suspected dead as his command ship blew up just above the planet Bracca. His last known whereabouts were on Bracca where Second Sister reported that he was a part of the mining guild, he reportedly left the planet with Jedi Knight Cere Junda."_

_BEEEEP_

"_According to my Databank Padawan Learner Katooni is of the Tholothian species. Her last known whereabouts are unknown as she has been suspected dead; her body has never identified."_

_BEEEP_

"_According to my Databank Padawan Learner Jin-Lo Rayce was the apprentice of Jedi Librarian Jocasta Nu; we have suspected him to have died in the purge but upon the death of his Jedi Master Jocasta Nu; we were told he was alive."_

_BEEEP_

"_According to my Databank eight of the Jedi Initiates listed were a part of a Jedi Initiate Clan called The Soaring Hawkbat Clan; they are suspected as being alive as none of their bodies were found to be in the Jedi Temple after Operation Knightfall."_

_BEEEEP_

_According to my Databank Jedi Initiate Ashla was of the Togruta Species and a member of the Jedi Initiate Clan called the Mighty Bear Clan. Her body was never found; as of now she is suspected as being alive."_

He let the information sink in. It was a lot of names, some of which he recognised and many whose masters he'd killed—they'd have to be _destroyed _too. It was only a matter of time before he eradicated the Jedi once and for all and brought peace to the empire. Many would call him heartless and perhaps he was. He didn't care for the opinions of others; the only opinion that mattered to him was that of his masters. Many of the Jedi he'd killed were children, but children had the tendency to grow up rather Quickly, he had to terminate the threat before they became old enough to challenge his master.

He turned to the monitor once more, his respirator had returned to its usual cycle, with his rage subdued and the beast once again caged he could concentrate. "Put me in contact with Captain Piett." He commanded.

"_Very well Lord Vader."_

The screen flickered before shifting to the bridge, its dark sterile interior panned to a large open void of monitors and datapads—like the floors the imperial officer's attire was a perfect image of order and perfection. The faded grey tunics were ironed out and buttoned neatly, with medals of rank clip uniformly to their tunics—hair trimmed and shaven and hats on heads, not one hair out of place.

He shifted his artificial lenses to his captain in command—Piett who shuffled uncomfortably but held himself with determination and class.

"Greetings Lord Vader." Piett greeted, saluting him, his voice wavered with uneasy, yet he had a captivating aura of sophistication about him- and an intelligence beyond his years.

"Dispense with the pleasantries Admiral I have orders for you." He gruffly replied, his prosthetic fingers tapped his armrest impatiently.

Piett nodded in understanding "Very well Lord Vader." he straightened himself out and awaited orders.

"Contact the strike team and tell them to orbit Raxus Prime we will meet them there." He explained, the commanding baritone of his voice modulator left no room for defiance and he preferred it that way—Piett had never defied him so far and he'd been Admiral of his ship for 5 years now, Piett knew his place, if not he'd make sure that he learnt it _very _quickly.

Piett raised a brow in intrigue "Raxus Prime sir?" He questioned. He tried not to let his surprise and uncertainty be projected through his words, for he knew the consequences of such an embarrassing display of lack of trust. He's killed children for less.

"Many Jedi hide there, and I do not want them escaping me this time." He replied.

"As you wish Lord Vader, I will personally make sure that no Jedi leave Raxus alive." " He saluted and the monitor turned to static.

"I hope so for your sake admiral." He replied. piett swallowed his tongue and shifted uncomfortably.

"W-will that be all my lord?" He asked, before clearing his throat, trying to maintain an aura of calmness to which he admired— Piett never snivelled and wallowed at his feet, he was strong willed and self assured, always completely certain of his next move. Truely a useful asset indeed.

"You are dismissed, Admiral." He replied with the flick of a hand.

He bowed "Very well Lord Vader, we should arrive at Raxus in about 0900 hours." He replied and took his leave, the monitor left behind a static.

He'd find them all—_kill _them all, every single one of them until they led him right into the arms of _Kenobi_, he did not care if he had to slaughter more children to find him, if that was there destiny then so be it. He would find his former master—find him and _destroy him, _subject him to years of torture and suffering until he begged him to kill him—begged him to slice off his flesh and limb from his body one by one until he finally understood that there was no redemption for him—Kenobi's optimism would be his undoing. He'd thrown away that chance the second he left him for dead and destroyed his life. All he knew was that he looked forward to watching Kenobi suffer and break.

Their compassion for each other would be their downfall, and when they did fall, he'd make sure that they led him straight to Kenobi.

The ceiling to his hyperbaric chamber closed around him, encasing him in it's darkness.

A rare comfort he noted.

* * *

Heat. Scorching unbearable heat.

He should be used to the feeling by now. Growing up on Tatooine meant your skin was constantly blistered and golden and your clothes pungent and soaked with sweat. Yet it seemed to affect you ten times worse when you were starving and exhausted, he noted...

His droopy blue orbs starred at the hundreds of vendors around him, each protected by a thin sheet of cloth on the roofs of their stalls- protecting them from the harsh relentless onslaught of the Tatooine suns. Every stall had a different species selling an endless supply of ship parts at ridiculously high prices. He felt like a bantha to slaughter, the harsh glare of the golden sand and lack of water accumulated in a throbbing migraine which pounded and clawed at his retinas relentlessly-his feet throbbed from walking the long distance from home in nothing but sandals.

He stood in the middle of town and stared at the environment around him in wonder, suddenly shy. His tired eyes focused on the thousands of foreign dialects jumbling around his brain. He felt out of place in such a lively world. Back home his Aunt never allowed him to travel into town, it was strictly forbidden- yet now that he was here he felt overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people, as he was introduced to such a strange new world.

He'd thought about going to Biggs' house and living there for a short while until he got his head together, but he doubted that Biggs would want him- ever want to see him again, after their argument Biggs had been suspiciously quiet. He was bound to know that he was missing by now, surely his Aunt would've gone and told the Darklighters, surely, right? And yet- nothing. Complete silence on the mysterious disappearance of Luke Lars family disappointment.

How had he managed to mess his life up so badly in one day? How had no one cared enough to come looking for him? He wasn't even broadcasted on the HoloNet of missing children- it was almost as if he'd never even existed...never really mattered. Now that he was filthy, starving and alone he wondered if he'd made the right decision to run away in the first place. He wondered if anyone even cared that he was missing.

He was so hungry, his stomach ached in protest against his involuntary hunger strike, he'd brought what little food he could find with him but by day five he'd eaten it all; he truly wished that he'd thought this whole thing through a bit better. His dry eyes religiously scanned through every stall he could find until he came upon one selling a fruit of some sort. It was a strange fruit he noted, he'd never seen anything like that before and wondered if it was safe- it's red and orange contrast was so unlike anything he'd ever eaten on Tatooine. After a quick scan of the label he managed to piece together that it was a Meiloorun fruit.

He frowned, he'd never heard of it before, on the farm his diet consisted of Bantha stew and blue milk, mainly because fruit was so expensive and not grown here. He looked up at the vendor, a strange blue bug-like creature with tiny wings and a strange snort, it's yellowed teeth protruding out from it's mouth in a permanent sneer.

He bit his cracked lower lip and gently tugged on the creature's clothing "Can I have one?" he asked, pointing towards the Meliooruns.

The creature's shiny black eyes burrowed into his small form and sneered "Only if you've got credits." He frowned, his accent was strange, he could barely understand what the creature was saying to him and wondered if he was speaking Basic. Growing up on Tatooine his knowledge of Basic was basically zero, he knew of it, his school taught him only a little bit before his Uncle unenrolled him; something he never understood and was still slightly bitter about.

He bit his lip and winced at the uncomfortable cramping of his stomach in protest of his hunger strike. "I-I haven't eaten in a couple of days." He pleaded.

The chubby creature waved him off, large bug eyes stared at him "Not my problem kid, go back to ya parents." the creature replied.

He removed his hands from the creature "But I don't have parents." he replied, he was lying of course, everyone had parents but he wasn't entirely ready to accept that his had been a monster- wasn't even sure if he was ready to so easily accept that what his Uncle had told him was true. He was so conflicted, his Uncle always lied and yet he'd ran away because of what he'd done to them in the refresher-he couldn't bring himself to hurt them again, he couldn't even remember how he'd done it. All he knew was that he felt like he was becoming the same monster his father was, and he had to do everything within his power to stop that.

The creature eyed him for a moment before waving him off "Fuck off kid." the creature hissed back.

He raised a brow in confusion "Fuck off?" he asked, he'd never heard that word before, wasn't even sure that it was native to Tatooine- he wished he hadn't been unenrolled from school so soon, he couldn't really use them desert survival classes right about now.

The creature cautiously eyed him as if he was some kind of sheltered fragile creature, as if he wasn't native to these parts, just because his vocabulary was so lacking didn't mean he was stupid he blaunched "Go away, scram, get it? Bother someone else." the creature replied.

It was no use, no one would listen to him. He was beginning to regret his decision to run away real badly, at least at home he got regular meals and a good night's sleep. He'd been walking the streets of Mos Eisley for over a week now and had long since eaten through all the food he'd brought with him and now begun to beg.

In one final act of shame he asked "How do I get credits?"

The creature eyed him in disbelief. He couldn't help not knowing stuff, he was only 12 afterall, it was as if this creature expected him to know everything by now, his Aunt and Uncle never taught him how to survive on his own they did everything for him because he was to young to be wondering the streets alone- he knew that, yet here his was Luke Lars certified runaway, to naive and stupid to know what credits were and how to get them. He was useless

"You work for them, didn't ya parents teach you anything?" the creature asked.

He pouted and crossed his arms over his chest "I told you I don't have parents." he replied

The creature sneered at his immaturity "Fine, whatever, whoever's looking after you, didn't they teach ya anything?" the creature asked.

He shook his head "My Aunt and Uncle never let me enter the city, they brought everything for me." he explained, it sounded silly he knew- he was a big boy now, twelve was old right?

The creature rolled his eyes at him and analysed his filthy form "Welcome to the real-world kiddo, it's cruel and nothing is free." the creature snipped back sarcastically.

He bit his lip and shuffled uncomfortably under the intense gaze. "How can I get work?" he asked.

He looked him up and down, a strange glint in his eyes. "What's ya name?" it asked.

He frowned, he thought about giving a fake name but didn't really see a reason too, this creature had been nice to him so far and maybe he could help him find work so that he could get off this rock and find his father, if he was still alive.

"Luke Lars." he eventually replied.

The creature nodded it's head "How old are ya?" it asked.

He smiled "I just turned twelve, it was my birthday last week." he boasted back.

The creature snorted and rolled it's eyes "Good for you."

He looked towards the Melooruns again and groaned, his stomach hurt so much- he'd never been this hungry in his life and kind of hoped that the creature would take pity on him and feed him, they were now friends right? Friends helped other friends- well Aunt Beru always said that they were supposed to. "Can I have one?" he nervously asked.

The creature smiled, he shuddered- it slightly unnerved him, he;d never seen the creature smile before and quite frankly it didn't suit his face all that well- he looked funny. "Only if ya willing to work for it." the creature replied.

He smiled and stuck out his hand "Deal." he cheerfully replied.

The creature ignored his hand and cautiously looked around before turning back to him "Come with me." He motioned with his finger to the back of his shop. He reluctantly followed only after the promise of food and water.

Once in the creature's home they were silent, an awkward silence as the creature prepared him a drink. He stood in the middle of the room and fiddled with his hands, not really sure what to do. He looked around to distract himself, the creature's home was a shop of some kind, droids and other miscellaneous parts were thrown disorderly on the floors and walls, the place was quite frankly filthy- he groaned and hoped that his job wouldn't be to clean up this mess. He turned to stare at the creature again, drink in one hand it flew towards him. "You have a nice house." He tried to start small talk.

The creature ignored him "Sit." it motioned to a wooden stool near the desk of his work space.

He took a seat and smiled at the creature who blankly stared at him back, no longer social, he noted.. "So what will I be doing?" he asked.

The creature stared at him for a while before asking. "Are you good with your hands?"

The beamed and smiled back, bouncing excitedly on the stool which creaked in protest. He bounced for a little while before deciding he was too thirsty and tired to keep it up "The best, I can fix anything!" he exclaimed enthusiastically.

The creature blankly stared at him before he managed an uneasy smile. "Good."

He frowned "I'm not going to be a problem am I Sir?" he shaily asked.

The creature gave an inviting smile "Hopefully not, here." He handed him a drink of water.

He took it before guzzling it down, the sweet, sweet coldness massaged and soothed his dry and scratchy throat, his eyes drooped slightly—he didn't really realise how tired he was until he'd taken a sit down and had something to drink, how long had it been since he'd had a good nights sleep? One day—a week maybe? He wasn't entirely sure anymore.

The Togarian stared at him whilst he drank.

They sat in silence, the only sound between them was the sound of his frantic gulps- he savoured every drop of water and wasn't sure when he'd be getting another drink, all he knew was that he was grateful to the creature for its help, he turned to it and smiled "Thank you for—for being so kind to me Sir." he replied, his voice wavering slightly- he was just _so _tired all of a sudden.

"Sure kiddo." the creature mumbled back.

He yawned and placed the cup onto the counter next him. He felt weirdly tired as if all his energy had suddenly evaporated leaving behind a heavy dead weight-strange.

"I feel sleepy." He muttered

"Really? Have you slept recently?" the creature mumbled back, placing a calloused weird hand to his forehead- or so he thought, he couldn't really tell, his vision was all fuzzy and his body felt heavy.

He managed a nod, his limbs felt heavy and numb—what was happening to him? "Not good sleep." He mumbled back his words, slurring slightly.

The creature smiled, an empty smile he noted "perhaps ya ought to sleep then kiddo."

He weakly shook his head, his eyes blurred as dark spots appeared in his eyes. "No—not sleep please…" he slurred incoherently, his head hit the counter in front of him as his consciousness left him and the cold embrace of sleep overtook him.

"All too easy."

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I hope you all liked this chapter, it was a little insight into our favourite brooding dark lord of the sith! Please review and tell me what you think I do very much enjoy hearing from you all.

Thank you to all who reviewed, Favourited and Followed guest and user alike. :)

Tuesday 7th April 2020


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